


The Reluctant Rockstar

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Developing Friendships, FC Barcelona, Gen, M/M, MSN friendship, Male Friendship, Mistaken Identity, Music, Musicians, Real Madrid CF, Rock Stars, Rock and Roll, Song Lyrics, Songwriting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23481514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: Cristiano looks at him in surprise. "The penthouse?" He flicks his eyes over Leo, starting with the oversized hoodie and ending with the worn sweatpants and flip flops. His lips curl in the strangest way as he finds Leo's face again. "There's a band staying there currently, I believe. Are you with them?" he asks as if the answer can't possibly be yes, and Leo knows then that Cristiano has no idea who he is. "Staying with one of the members for the night, maybe?" he asks then, delicately.Leo breathes a sigh of relief.And then makes a face, because it sounds like Cristiano thinks he's some booty call. Or a hooker. A sweatsuit wearing version of Pretty Woman.
Relationships: Lionel Messi/Cristiano Ronaldo, Philippe Coutinho/Luis Suárez, Xavi Hernández/Andrés Iniesta, future Neymar/James Rodríguez, future Sergio Ramos/Gerard Piqué
Comments: 46
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yulin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulin/gifts).



> This was originally based off cressi week prompts... The word 'Opportunity' I believe, which I connected to the song by Sia (You might have heard Quvenzhané Wallis sing it in the 2014 version of 'Annie'--I've heard it a billion times bc the girl I tutor LOVES that movie) and also 'Wonderwall' by Oasis. 
> 
> Anyways, I've written a ton of this one, but once my work schedule changed a little while back I told myself I wouldn't post any WIP until Orange is the New Blaugrana is finished. That said, I still would work on this here and there (along with other fics), and it slowly built up in the background. Still, I'm breaking my self imposed rule of no WIP fic due to the whole Quarantine! Enjoy it while it lasts lol.
> 
> Really love this AU though, who would have thought that MSN would so perfectly become rockstars... (Leo in leather tho... mmm)

"Under the glow of the very bright lights," Leo sings softly, his pencil scratching along in his notebook. "I turn my face towards the warm, night sky."

"Catchy," Luis says thoughtfully, sounding scratchy as he rests his beer on his knee. It leaves a wet circle on the black denim and draws more attention to the growing rip across his thigh. "But--"

"Wait! Shut up," Neymar interrupts immediately, ignoring the rude gesture he receives in return. He sets his own beer down on the table, sliding the bottle into a cup holder before it spills all over his lap. "Is there more, Leo?" He's always so eager every time Leo starts singing something new, and his curly hair bounces with excitement as he leans forward with eagerness.

Leo smiles gently, twirling the pencil around in his fingers. It's getting a little stubby now, needing sharpening but that's how it is most of the time these days. He writes so much that it's often blunt by the end of the day even if he sharpens it in the morning. But it'll do for now.

He looks off into the distance, letting things blur as he imagines he's on stage again.

His eyes are heavy and he desperately needs sleep, exhausted from the performance earlier that evening and the subsequent celebrating, but he can feel Luis and Neymar staring at him and somehow it helps inspire him. "And I'm not afraid of a thousand eyes," he croons, slowing down before finishing, "when they're above... five hundred smiles."

"Try something like two hundred thousand eyes," Neymar says, but he's already hauling his keyboard out from its case beside them. His fingers have got to be aching, but he doesn't let that stop him from pulling off every piece of jewelry on his hands. Each one clinks as he tosses them in the other cup holder, but then his hands are bare and he wiggles them with delight. "We want to be accurate, now, don't we?"

Leo laughs and kicks off his boots as he moves to sit cross-legged in his seat. Should have done it as soon as he got on the bus, but he'd forgotten. "Messes up the rhythm," he says, looking down at his notebook. He jots down the next set of lyrics just in case he forgets them, although truthfully he already knows them by heart. Whenever he writes about himself, the words come out easier. It's always been that way, ever since he started composing his own songs. It should be harder to spill his soul, but for some reason, it isn't.

Writing it all out is cathartic somehow.

It's definitely harder to sing them at first--that is, in comparison to the songs their producers used to give him--because it's revealing more of who he is. He puts so much of himself into his songs, and he can only hope that his fans understand that.

He likes to think they do, and that's why M.S.N. has been so successful these past few years.

And they have been successful.

Sold out stadiums, played the American Super Bowl, Grammy Awards, MTV Video Music Awards, gotten billions of views on Youtube... The word rockstar seems to be thrown around a little too literally these days, especially when compared to the legendary bands of the last few decades, but most people would agree that M.S.N. are the real thing: rock royalty.

Luis has his pick out now. He's strumming on his guitar as he sings Leo's lyrics under his breath, trying out a few chords here and there, trying to match up with the melody that Neymar's tinkering with. He's got his black combat boots kicked up on one of the seats in front of him, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes and thumbs the strings. He probably shouldn't be singing at all, not with that rasp in his voice.

Neymar's got his eyes closed too, as his hands move tentatively over the keys in front of him. It should look strange--the professional black and white keyboard sitting on top of bright purple harem pants--but somehow it's never seemed more normal. Like Luis, Neymar knows where each key and note is by heart, but it's clear he's not sure what music will go best with Leo's words. The final version of the song will likely be far from what they're experimenting with now, but that's because they're perfectionists as much as Leo is.

It doesn't seem to matter that they're all beyond tired from performing tonight in Barcelona.

The concert had been amazing, and the crowd fucking *electric*, just as they always were in that fantastic city. Leo had nearly sung himself hoarse trying to keep up with the energy, and from the sound of his voice, Luis nearly had too. With Luis playing bass on one side and Neymar pounding the drums on the other, he'd felt invincible. Playing at Camp Nou was always a treat, and M.S.N. made sure to stop there every time they toured through Spain.

Never in his deepest dreams would Leo have imagined their little garage band would make history and become one of the biggest acts in the world.

"Under the spotlight I'm starting my life," Leo murmurs, scribbling as the words come to him once more. "Big dreams becoming real tonight..." He stops then, feeling a bit blocked, tapping his pencil against his lips as he drifts again. Something else comes to him then and in the margins he writes, 'and all the roads that lead you there are winding, and all the lights that lead the way are blinding.'

He draws a few question marks around it, heavily doodling a few stars and swirly roads as if they might jog his memory. It doesn't go here. Doesn't work. Well, it works, but...

It's not part of this song, he's pretty sure. It's something else, a different story of his that he hasn't written yet. He shrugs. A bit rhymey, but not terrible. He scrolls back up to what he's started, drawing a smiley face next to 'five hundred smiles.'

When he looks up again he realizes that his two friends are waiting to see what else Leo's feeling. "Nothing more tonight," he explains apologetically, although neither of them is mad. They're always super supportive when lyrics start to come to him, and they understand the artistic process more than anyone else. Leo shrugs and tucks the pencil in the spiral coil for safekeeping. The notepad goes into his back pocket and he reaches for his beer instead.

Neymar just nods. "No worries," he says, turning off his keyboard and setting back in the case. He pats it protectively before he pulls out one of his own notebooks--this one with footballs printed across the cover and containing sheet music--and quickly scrawls out a few possible things he thinks will work. "I like it though," he adds, winking up at Leo before focusing on his notebook. "I'm thinking it'll be more of a ballad, maybe."

"You like everything Leo writes," Luis says, strumming aimlessly. "We only keep you around because you're such a suck-up." He starts to play the first few chords of 'La Remontada,' their last hit single, before grinning toothily and setting the guitar aside. "I'm just kidding Ney," he adds, running a hand through his hair and yawning. "Obviously it's for your pretty face."

"Fuck off. This pretty face is going to kick you in the face," Neymar retorts, still focusing on the sheet music in front of him, but he's smiling too.

Leo lets their banter wash over him as he stares out the window and watches the scenery go by now. The dim light of the bus is just enough to make out his reflection in the window. Outside, it's dark, of course, with them having been on the road for the last few hours. There are a few more buses behind him with crew and equipment and whatever else they need. Only their manager, Xavi, and his husband and assistant, Andrés, were allowed on the bus with the band members. The others were following close behind. But they still have a ways to go. They don't usually travel by bus anymore--just takes too long and causes too much trouble when they can afford to take the jet--but there'd been some bad weather in Barcelona which was projected to continue all week and it was either take the bus or delay the concert.

And they couldn't change the dates.

That caused so much of a fuss. They'd have to make sure it didn't interfere with any other of their tour dates, double-check that the stadium was free, make sure the crew could come, work with security, get the merchandise and equipment all moved again... There was a whole checklist of things that Leo wasn't even remembering, he's sure. And that's not even mentioning how disappointed the fans would be. M.S.N. had postponed a show only once before, but it had been such an awful experience that they'd sworn never to do it again unless absolutely necessary. And a few bad thunderstorms? That wasn't enough to stop them getting to Madrid. Thus, the buses.

*****

Leo falls asleep with his head against the window, but he wakes up when their driver comes to a stop at the hotel and his voice comes over the intercom to let them know. Xavi shouts back afterward, just in case that wasn't enough to wake them up. Andrés is trying to hush him, but Xavi just laughs.

There's a crick in Leo's neck and he's left a disgusting faceprint against the tinted glass. He could have slept in one of the beds in the back, but it's too late now. He rubs a bit at the glass with his sleeve, failing to wipe it away and eventually giving up. It's early--too early for Leo, but still, he gets up and stretches, nearly braining himself on the low ceiling of the bus. Without thinking, he rubs his eyes. A moment later he looks down at his once-white sleeve. "Well, shit," he says.

The black eyeliner is smudged all over his shirt.

Neymar snorts behind him, holding his keyboard to his chest. His drumsticks are sticking out of his pocket. He has a red bandana tied around his forehead and it looks like it has prevented him from having an extreme case of bed head. Somehow it doesn't clash with his purple pants and bright green tank top reading SUPER FALCONS across the chest. "You look like a raccoon," he informs Leo pleasantly, before turning to let Luis get a good look.

Luis cackles until he breaks down in coughing, and this time Leo's the one who gives him the finger.

The only good thing is that none of their fans know they're driving instead of flying, and as a result, there aren't hordes of people surrounding the bus and hotel. They also had decided to try to keep a low profile since they had the opportunity, and their bus is just a generic one as opposed to one with their names and faces plastered on the side. Therefore, there are only a few sleepy security people who get to see Leo with his makeup smeared everywhere as opposed to a thousand groupies with paparazzi.

Leo pulls a hat down over his eyes as much as possible, just in case.

(Also, because unlike Neymar, his hair isn't magically perfect when he wakes up.)

Their current bodyguards--Umtiti and Casemiro--escort them inside, and they make it up to the penthouse without any trouble. Xavi and Andrés are staying on the floor below, and so they ride up with them before going to get some rest. Leo says a little prayer in thanks that none of the hotel staff have leaked it to the press that they're here. The show isn't until Saturday night, so they have a few days for that to still happen, of course.

In the meantime, they have time to relax and rehearse, shop or sightsee if they want, and in Leo's case, write.

"Under the glow of the very bright lights," Leo sings quietly to himself, as Luis and Neymar putter around in the background and settle in. It's still dark enough that the street lights are on down on the ground, and he wonders if they'll disappear as the city starts to wake up.

Their suitcases are all being brought up in stages. Leo should probably be involved, or at least help oversee everything, since Luis and Neymar are often useless when it comes to making sure everything is accounted for, but he's leaning against the window and staring out at the city.

By the time he comes back to himself, Luis is off in the shower while Neymar's already started up some live video for Facebook or Instagram or something. The second Neymar mentions his name, Leo points at him threateningly before waving toward his still messed-up eye makeup. "Don't you dare!" Leo mouths, already walking away to find his toiletries.

Neymar just laughs and laughs. "You guys, listen, I swear I'd show you Messi but he just ran away from me!" he exclaims, laughing again as he reads more comments. "I swear, I swear!" he repeats, collapsing down on the couch and grinning cheekily. "No, no," he says as more comments come in. "Suárez is in the shower. You're stuck with me for now."

Leo just shakes his head and digs through a suitcase until he finds his makeup wipes. He doesn't need a mirror to know what he's doing, ripping open a new pack so that he can wipe his face clean. He really should have done it before he fell asleep on the bus, but he'd been too lazy. He's just thankful nobody had gotten a shot of his face. It would have been super embarrassing if that was the first look Madrid got of him this year.

When he's finished, he goes back to the sitting room to watch Neymar entertain his viewers.

Gerard Piqué, M.S.N.'s publicist, had been very encouraging when Neymar had started to do live videos. "You don't understand, Leo," he'd said, pacing back in forth in front of them during their meeting. "This is exactly what the public wants! Your fans want to see you 24/7, not just during shows. They want to see you eating breakfast, see you getting your makeup done, see you rehearsing. Hell, they want to see you doing something as silly as reading a book, okay?"

Leo had raised his eyebrows at that, exchanging a similar look with Luis. "I don't really read that often," Leo had said under his breath. Only Neymar remained unfazed, nodding in agreement with whatever Geri said.

"I realize that this makes no sense to you," Geri had said, finally sitting back down. "Especially you, Leo. You're the most reluctant rockstar I've ever met," he adds, painfully aware of how much Leo hated any type of exposure. "But you're at that level of popularity now. Your fans want to see every aspect of your life. Including the mundane. They want to see you... unscripted. They want to see the *real* you. Not just the one that's on stage. If you're arguing or fighting, get that on tape too, okay?"

"You know the real Leo doesn't ever do anything interesting, right? He's quite boring?" Luis had finally interjected, smirking at Neymar's outraged gasp.

"He is not boring!" Neymar had yelled, throwing a notebook at Luis' head. "Just look at his new sleeve!"

The meeting had descended into chaos after that, and Leo had taken the moment to slip out as his friends scuffled while Xavi fluttered back and forth and tried to stop them without hurting them. All the while, Leo imagined that Geri would have been quite pleased if Neymar had live-streamed the whole thing. Considering Geri's job revolved around publicity, he would have thought Geri would be more concerned with propriety and civility... Instead of encouraging them to make scenes here and there.

Still, Leo had no desire to share more of his life.

Geri had some intern that ran an Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter account for him, and it already included more private pictures than Leo really was comfortable with. Shots of Leo relaxing backstage, pictures of his wardrobe, and even what he was eating for dinner once in a while. His photostream wasn't anything close to as revealing as Neymar's or Luis' even--both of them somehow managed to run their own accounts, although Geri's team did have the passwords in case they needed to add publicity shots or answer comments.

Leo just wasn't into all that.

Andrés had tried to show him how to do it awhile back, and when he was sure Leo knew what he was doing, he'd left Leo to try for himself. Leo'd tried to post a picture and ended up posting the same one twice--the second was just a zoomed-in version of the first with a different filter. And he'd posted it on his story instead of on his profile. Neymar found it hilarious, and even Luis couldn't hide his amusement. Andrés had laughed and offered to give him more lessons without anyone knowing, but after that Leo hadn't seen the point. (Also he'd forgotten his passwords immediately and couldn't be bothered to tell anyone.)

That type of sharing wasn't what he expected he'd have to do when he first started the band. He'd just wanted to perform. Wanted to play. Wanted to sing. There was something indescribable about when he was up on that stage. When M.S.N. combined, they were unstoppable. People who came to see them never forgot the experience.

Now, watching Neymar entertain their fans and take their questions, Leo's reminded of how important Neymar is to their group. Unlike Leo who played guitar and Luis who played bass, Neymar focused more on the drums and the keyboard. Leo smiles watching him now, as Neymar sings a little bit of 'Treble,' one of his favorite songs, at the request of a fan. There's something beautiful in his voice, something heartfelt and joyous that always makes Leo marvel at his talent.

The fans love it too.

Leo's lead vocalist and as a result often has some of the more daring solos--especially on the songs he writes alone--but the ones with Neymar's occasional serious vocals are always fan favorites.

Leo gets his notebook back out, sitting quietly and enjoying the short private concert he's getting. It's nothing he hasn't heard before. After all, Neymar's always singing--Leo's parts or otherwise--and though it should get on Leo's nerves, it never does. Technically he's sharing this song with however many million viewers Neymar's got streaming at the moment, but still, to him it feels private. "Oh, I used to think," Leo murmurs, "What wouldn't I give, for a moment like this?"

Neymar looks up and catches his eye, smiling as he realizes Leo's having a burst of inspiration.

"This moment, this gift?" Leo says softly, his pencil flowing over the page before as he realizes that this is the next piece. He hums in his head, drawing an arrow over at the stanza above as he fits the stanzas together. He sinks back against the couch. There's still something missing, but he's not sure what. His weariness isn't helping at all, and he tosses the notebook onto the coffee table and gives up again.

It's really *too* early to be doing this.

Luis chooses that moment to emerge from the shower in a cloud of steam, white hotel towel wrapped around his waist being the only indicator that he's not trying to film some music video. His hair's still wet and dripping but he's already found a guitar again--they're practically attached at the hip--and he's singing background for Neymar as they come to the last verse of 'Treble.'

Leo can't help relaxing as the two harmonize. It's funny how that works. For all that he's taken lead, the two of them are certainly just as talented as he is. It helps that they have absolutely breathtaking chemistry. Luis knows what Neymar's going to do before Neymar even does it, and that definitely helps every time Neymar improvises out of the blue. Leo could never adapt like that. Like now, Neymar's slightly altered the end of the song, singing in a different key than he normally would--but Luis is right there with him, shadowing him. And the end result is a beautiful, slightly different take on 'Treble.'

Geri will undoubtedly be pleased with them having streamed it.

It'll be all over Twitter in five minutes or so. Madrid might still be sleeping, but plenty of their fans across the globe are awake and online.

"That's it for today guys," Neymar tells their fans, giving the peace sign and waving. "Thanks for giving me the opportunity to experiment a little. I hope to see a lot of you this weekend! Lots of love!!" He ends the video and tosses his phone onto the couch where it disappears between two cushions. He'll undoubtedly forget it's there until Luis fishes it out later.

"As if you needed an opportunity," Luis jokes, setting the guitar down as he starts to search through his suitcase. He wears nearly the same thing every day when they're not performing--jeans, boots, and ratty old t-shirts--yet he has more luggage than Leo and Neymar put together. People who don't know them that well always assume it's Neymar who's the clotheshorse since he's always experimenting with all sorts of shirts and jackets and sweaters, but Luis's collection of t-shirts takes up more space than they should.

Now, Neymar's hair products on the other hand...

"Oh, don't wear that one," Neymar says as Luis stands up with a faded light blue shirt. Leo knows it's one of Luis' favorites from back home, reading LA CELESTE across the front in black lettering. There's a sun across the shoulder-blades that actually reminds Leo of his hometown, so Leo, quite frankly, has no objection.

Then again, Leo has no idea what actually looks good.

If it were up to him he'd just wear sweats and crocs all the time, but as he's told time and time again--continuously by his stylist, Sergio Ramos--he's an idiot. Leo's whole look has been meticulously crafted by Sergio over the years. When Leo performs, he has to wear tight-fitting black leather pants and boots, along with either short-sleeved ripped black or white shirts. He can pick the color. That's about all he's allowed a choice about.

It's literally black or white.

Accessory wise, Sergio's always after him to wear a ton of jewelry or multiple scarves or jackets with ridiculous fringe. On occasion, Leo will suck it up and stack on a few chunky bracelets or silver rings to make him happy.

And he'll wear the eyeliner, but he draws the line at any other makeup.

Leo's pretty sure that's why Sergio makes him wear it all the time.

For downtime, thankfully, he's allowed to ditch the leather pants for jeans. They're still tight, but they're way more comfortable. Apparently they're 'distressed' so they're cool enough for Sergio. Leo's not sure where the line is between distressed and worn out, but he tries not to ask too many questions. Like Luis, he tends to wear t-shirts or long-sleeved t-shirts, but he's not nearly as particular and doesn't really have any favorites. One shirt is as good as another in his opinion, though of course when he says this to Sergio, his poor stylist nearly has a conniption.

Apparently the problem with Luis' light blue t-shirt is that it is too close to the light wash of Luis' jeans. Neymar explains this like it physically pains him to have to do so.

Leo thinks about listening to why that's a problem, but as Luis clutches his beloved shirt in his fist and gears up for an argument, Leo decides he's getting out of there. The truth is, they spend more than enough time together and sometimes that results in petty squabbling and ridiculous arguments.

Such as arguments over the difference between sky blue and cornflower blue.

Part of the problem is that they always stay in the same suite, which sounds a bit strange and granted, it's ended up causing some trouble. But they'd always done that, ever since they started touring, and once they started making the big money, they decided not to change things.

They didn't want to lose their tight friendship.

For better or for worse, they stick together.

But when Neymar begins his lecture on how blue a blue is, Leo knows it's time to take a walk.

Because it's still early, Leo takes a chance and changes into baggy sweatpants and a pair of slides. He's just going down to the hotel restaurant to get a cup of tea or something, not going to venture out into downtown Madrid. If he gets photographed, both Xavi and Geri will kill him, but he's so tired that he is going to chance it. Room service just isn't an option with the way Luis and Ney are going at it like cats and dogs.

Leo does take the precaution to change his makeup-stained shirt, pulling on another long-sleeved t-shirt because it's the first long-sleeved one he takes out of his suitcase. Let it not be said he's a total idiot, because he knows his tattoos are a little recognizable and so he takes care to cover them. The tee says M.S.N. 2014 across the front, which doesn't quite figure into his plans if he wants to stay incognito. So then he adds an oversized white hoodie. This one just has an Adidas logo on the back which is perfect. In these clothes, without his eyeliner and without standing next to Luis and Ney?

If luck is on his side, he's not sure the average person will know him.

Umtiti is dubious as they go down the elevator and back to the lobby, but the bodyguard humors him.

****

It takes some convincing to get Umtiti to let him stay by himself, but since there's barely anybody around this early in the morning, eventually Leo wins.

The bartender certainly doesn't appear to know who he is, if the dismissive look Leo receives says anything about it. Admittedly, he probably isn't expecting much of a tip since Leo looks so grungy. "What can I get you?" the bartender asks, seeming bored as Leo sits down in front of him. He's wearing a pristine, fitted black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow. His golden name tag reads 'Cristiano.'

But that's not where Leo's eyes go, because...

The bartender is... incredibly good looking.

Honestly, Leo does a double-take. He's not sure why this man's bartending here instead of out modeling designer clothes.

Cristiano towers over Leo, which is not really an impressive feat considering Leo's short stature, but his posture is impeccable. Everything about him is perfect, really. His dark hair is noticeably coiffed, a hint of curl shining underneath the bar lighting, and there's a pair of diamond studs sparkling in his ears. Leo tries not to look at the beauty mark right under his nose, and instead notices how gorgeous the man's tanned skin is against brilliant white teeth. They're turned up in a somewhat professional-looking smile now, void of real genuine emotion.

Leo's immediately intimidated.

He's all of a sudden aware that he hasn't brushed his hair... or his teeth. He tries to burrow into his hoodie, hoping that Cristiano won't judge his appearance too much.

But it's not like Leo has much choice at the moment. The restaurant apparently isn't even serving breakfast yet. And he doesn't want to go out into the city, for sure--Geri and Sergio will really kill him. If he wants tea, which he does, it makes sense for him to order it here. The hotel had boasted of their 24-hour bar, surprisingly, and as if to show that they're true to their word, it's currently populated by a few other people drinking and eating.

Maybe Cristiano's been on a 24-hour shift because he raises his eyebrows impatiently and loses some of his professional smile as Leo clears his throat.

"Um, just hot tea, please," Leo orders, pointing his chin to a black tea on the beverage menu. He drinks a ton of the stuff, and with another upcoming show, he has to be careful to take care of his throat. Tea, coffee, mate--really anything hot will do, but in this case he's craving something hot and sweet. He considers toast or something to eat, but he's not quite hungry yet. "And ice water," he adds, right before Cristiano turns away. Performing always made him extremely dehydrated, and despite his constant replenishing (he definitely drank his body weight in water last night), he found that he was thirsty yet again.

This earns him another eyebrow, but Leo says, "Please," and Cristiano nods.

Leo pulls out his notebook while he's waiting. He never goes anywhere without it, and it's a good thing because as he's sitting there he realizes that more of the song is swirling in his head. "Oh, now look at me," he whispers, pencil scrawling slowly. "And this... Something. Something is standing right in front of me." He closes his eyes. "Vast sea? Civility?" He opens his eyes. "Monstrosity, more like," he says, shaking his head. He sets his notebook down and greedily sucks down some of the ice water that's just been put in front of him.

"Opportunity?" Cristiano suggests out of the blue, hip leaning against the bar. If Leo had done it, it would have looked like he was clearly posing, but with Cristiano, it seems casually natural.

Cristiano raises that same eyebrow when Leo looks up at him and lets what he said just sink in. "What are you? A writer?" Cristiano asks then. "I thought I had you pegged as some hungover kid, but seems I was wrong." And while Leo's still trying to figure out what to say, Cristiano heads over to take someone else's order.

Leo blinks. "Opportunity," he murmurs, thinking back to what Neymar had said earlier. "Opportunity," he sings quietly. He writes it down in his notebook and underlines it. "Oh, now look at me, and this opportunity... Is standing right in front of me, But one thing I know, it's only part luck, and so... I'm putting on my best show." He's so focused that he doesn't even notice when Cristiano returns with a white teapot and a matching empty cup and saucer. He just keeps going back over the song in his head, wondering if this is what pulls it all together as he underlines 'Opportunity' over and over again.

That's how songwriting is sometimes.

One word, one line, and all of a sudden everything falls into place.

"What room are you in?" Cristiano asks then, hovering slightly. He's not quite looking down at Leo's notebook, but is very obviously having trouble keeping his eyes on Leo's face. The full force of his gaze is quite unsettling. "The room number?" he asks again.

Leo looks up around them to see that the other customers have left and it's only the two of them at the bar now. But, since they're alone, Leo's struck by the question. Cristiano can't possibly be asking what Leo thinks he's asking.

And then he's flushing because of course Cristiano says slowly like he's not sure what to do with Leo, "I can charge your bill to your room? Unless you want to just pay it now."

Leo's pounding heart slowly calms down. It's not like he's never been hit on--the number of invitations he gets to fuck are staggering--but that's always when he's Messi. Messi with the leather pants and the makeup and the voice--that Messi from M.S.N.--is the one the people want. *Leo* doesn't get hit on (except by Neymar, and sometimes Luis, on occasion... and alright by the Cityzens' lead singer Kun Agüero every time they meet), but certainly not when he's got bags under his eyes and a hood hiding most of his face. And Cristiano is beyond out of his league, so Leo's not sure why he even thought for the tiniest second that Cristiano would be interested in him.

Well, it's because it's been quite some time since he's taken anybody up on their offer. That's why.

It occurs to him that Cristiano is still waiting.

Probably patiently because he thinks Leo's an idiot and doesn't understand small words.

It also occurs to Leo that he didn't bring his wallet. Hell, he doesn't ever carry his wallet except when he flies. He doesn't ever drive anywhere. Even then Andrés usually confiscates it after Leo gets through security. Honestly, he's never alone and by himself. There's always a bodyguard or an aide or someone on his team to purchase what he needs. "Um, the room is fine." He pauses and turns to a fresh page of his notebook, suddenly feeling embarrassed for all sorts of reasons. "It's the penthouse," he says to Cristiano.

He knows why he's embarrassed for assuming he was being hit on, and also because he doesn't have his wallet. But he's not sure why he's embarrassed about staying in the penthouse. Cristiano's probably had his share of wealthy clients--after all, this hotel is well known and caters to the rich and famous. If anything, the fact that Leo's staying here at all means that he has enough money to afford it. But he's a little afraid it'll clue Cristiano about his identity.

Cristiano looks at him in surprise. "The penthouse?" He flicks his eyes over Leo, starting with the oversized hoodie and ending with the worn sweatpants and flip flops. His lips curl in the strangest way as he finds Leo's face again. "There's a band staying there currently, I believe. Are you with them?" he asks as if the answer can't possibly be yes, and Leo knows then that Cristiano has no idea who he is. "Staying with one of the members for the night, maybe?" he asks then, delicately.

Leo breathes a sigh of relief.

And then makes a face, because it sounds like Cristiano thinks he's some booty call. Or a hooker. A sweatsuit wearing version of Pretty Woman.

"Yeah, no," Leo says. "Well, I mean, yes, I'm with them. M.S.N. But not like that. I, um, write for them?" He wiggles his notebook on the counter to draw attention to it and then sticks his pencil behind his ear. It nearly doesn't stay and there's a moment where he has to stick his hand down into the neck of his sweatshirt to pluck it out again. "Songs. I write songs." That, at least, isn't a lie. But now he really has a reason to be embarrassed and busies himself pouring his now-steeped tea. "Can I have some sugar with this?"

Cristiano makes a sound that might be a laugh. He covers his mouth with his hand for a few seconds. He's mostly composed when he drops the hand. "This kind isn't really supposed to be mixed with sugar," he says, like he's trying to be professional but also really, really, wants to laugh about what just happened.

Leo takes a sip of his water in the meantime. "Can I have some anyway?" he asks, trying not to look as pitiful as he feels. He knows his cheeks are getting pink and he rubs his eyes while trying not to yawn. Afterward, he freezes, and it's only when he glances at his sleeves that he remembers he's not wearing his normal makeup.

Cristiano ignores Leo's spasms as he reaches beneath the bar and then sets a bowl with sugar packets in front of him. "Help yourself," he says, adding a spoon to the saucer before Leo can even ask.

"Thank you," Leo says quietly, ripping open a bunch of sugars, all the while trying to pretend that his bartender isn't standing there and judging the truly awful amount of sweetener that he's adding to his tea.

Of course, that's not to be.

"I feel like I'm witnessing a moment that will never be repeated," Cristiano says. He puts his palms flat on the bar and leans over to peer into Leo's cup.

His hands are *very* big, Leo notices while trying not to.

Very graceful fingers. Long fingers. Without a ring.

"Is it soupy yet?" Cristiano asks curiously. "What's the sugar to tea ratio you're aiming for? I mean, if you wanted a bowl of sugary water, I could have just gotten that for you. We fulfill all sorts of requests here. Most bars do for their more important clientele. I'm sure your rockstar friends know all about that." There's definitely laughter in his voice now and he smiles brilliantly at Leo. "Tell me, how often do you work out, because there's no way you can drink this much sugar and stay that small without doing some serious cardio."

Leo does, in fact, drink this much sugar on a daily basis and stay this small without doing serious cardio. The thing is, performing burns off way more energy than most people think. "Oh, you know," he says, blushing more now. The only good thing is that it is really soothing his throat. The show had taken a lot out of him--today it was going to be pretty much sweet tea all day in order to keep him healthy. Well, not healthy, but... his voice in tip-top shape. "I just... I like really sweet tea for my throat sometimes. I don't put sugar in everything."

Cristiano raises his eyebrows again. "Yes, if you've got a sore throat, there's probably nothing better," he says with a straight face.

Leo tries not to laugh because Cristiano definitely thinks he's a hooker now.

Cristiano goes to say something and then changes his mind. "Not that I have any room to judge what you're drinking. You're the customer." Finally he says, "I'm Cristiano, by the way." And he holds out his hand as if they were meeting somewhere else.

It's actually really nice.

Leo bites his lip and goes for it. If Cristiano hasn't recognized him by now, there's a good chance Cristiano won't recognize his first name. The M in M.S.N. is for Messi, after all, and that's what most people know him as. "I could see your name tag," he says, clearing his throat. "But I'm Leo. Nice to meet you," he says, shaking Cristiano's hand calmly, all the while really hoping his instincts are correct and Cristiano doesn't make the connection.

Cristiano opens his mouth to say something else, and then looks down at Leo's hand.

Leo very suddenly realizes that his nails are still painted from last night's show. They're not even chipped yet, and the black ("Oil slick, Leo!”) nail polish is catching the light for them both to see. He silently curses Sergio. "Uh, you know, the band and all," he says, pulling his hand back and then hiding it in his sleeve. "Rock and roll and all that," he says, laughing a bit when he sees Cristiano is trying to hold back another smile. "Wooo."

"You really don't look the type," Cristiano says, refilling Leo's water when he notices its empty. As Leo takes another sip to stall for time, Cristiano looks uncertain for the first time since Leo sat down. "Sorry, that was a bit rude," he admits. "What I meant was," he gestures toward Leo's outfit, "this doesn't exactly scream rock music. You know? Not that I know many rock and roll groupies... But if anything, this makes me think you weren't lying to me earlier and I really can charge this to the penthouse now. For the record, you entertained me so much with the sugar that I was just going to let you have it for free."

His smile would soothe any ruffled feathers if Leo really was offended.

Not that he is, and he's distracted again by how good looking Cristiano is.

"I'm not--," Leo says, starting to say that he's not a groupie. He's not currently sleeping with anybody. And he doesn't really want Cristiano to be thinking that about him--that he's fucking Luis or Ney and following them around on tour only for that reason.

Not that Cristiano would really be interested in him anyway.

"Never mind. Yes, I really am staying there." Leo finishes his tea, savoring the sweetness of the sugar, and shakes his head. He is beyond tired now. Whatever little caffeine was in the tea hasn't made him want to face the day. "I'm going to go back to... the others. Thanks for the tea. And the judgment of my diet." He means for it to be a joke, but it comes out a bit sharply due to his fatigue.

Cristiano's smile disappears. "Truly, I didn't mean to offend you," he says earnestly. "I hope you're not leaving because of me. Listen, I'll get you another cup." He pauses and looks down at the remnants of sugar packets littering the bar. "And a bucket full of sugar. And then I'll let you be, I promise."

Leo shakes his head again. He's genuinely not offended--more amused if anything. It's nice to talk to someone who has no idea who he really is. Even if they think he's got a sore throat from sucking off a rockstar.

He's just exhausted.

"No, no, it's not you." Leo forces a smile to try to reassure Cristiano. "I'm really very tired. We got in late last night from Barcelona." He looks outside, noting that the sun is just beginning to come up. "Or, early this morning, rather. And sleeping on a bus is not the same as sleeping in a bed, so I'm going to go get some rest." He realizes this makes him sound more like a groupie, but he's too tired to reorganize his thoughts.

Cristiano is unconvinced, but he bids Leo goodbye politely.

Leo makes his way back through the lobby and heads for the elevators. Right before the doors open, he peeks around his hood to see Cristiano cleaning up his sugar mess.

It makes him crack a smile.

And when he wakes up, ten hours or so later, he knows all the words to what will be their newest song: "Opportunity."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temporary notes until I make footnotes (things you might not have caught or known!):  
> -Leo's first lyrics come from 'Opportunity' by Sia  
> -Barcelona's stadium-- Camp Nou-- has a capacity of about 99 thousand people  
> -Leo's second lyrics come from 'Wonderwall' by Oasis  
> -'La Remontada' aka the comeback, refers to Barcelona's 6-1 victory over P.S.G. in the Champions League on March 8, 2017 after losing the first leg 0-4.  
> -The SUPER FALCONS on Neymar's shirt is the nickname for the Nigeria women's football team  
> -Leo is notoriously terrible at social media and doesn't know how to use Instagram correctly (here is an example: https://www.instagram.com/p/w4s1FJPMya/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)  
> -MSN won the 'Treble' aka 3 major trophies (La Liga, Champions League, and Copa del Rey) in 2014-15  
> -LA CELESTE from Luis' shirt is another name for Uruguay's national team, and a sun is pictured on both Uruguay's flag and Argentina's flag  
> -Leo's got an Adidas contract (Cristiano has a Nike one lol)  
> -Pretty Woman (1990) is a Julia Roberts/Richard Gere movie about a prostitute


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not that Leo particularly minds rehearsal.
> 
> Standing up on the stage and belting his heart out is easy. He knows the songs like the back of his hand and never forgets a word. How could he? Those songs are his life. He can feel the beat under his feet, vibrating through his body with every word he sings. One moment he's back to back with Luis, his friend's solid muscle leaning against him as they share the standing mic, and the next minute he's striding over to put the focus onto Neymar at the drums.
> 
> There's a rush that comes with performing.
> 
> Leo can't even begin to put it into words, though he's always tried. His notebook is full of unfinished songs about the subject. But none of his words can describe what it feels like to stand up there and be worshipped by a hundred thousand people. When he stands up there, soaked with sweat after hours of singing, with the music pounding, with the pyrotechnics shooting off behind him? His body might be aching, but he's a fucking *god*.

"It's good, Leo. It's really good," Luis says, reading through Leo's scribbled lyrics while Neymar attempts to hug Leo to death. "I don't know how you make the simplest things seem so deep, but you do it time and time again." He tosses the notebook onto the table. "I mean, taking that little thing I said yesterday about Neymar and opportunity and turning it into a new song? That's brilliant."

When Leo can breathe again, he starts to try to explain about how it really had been the bartender who made everything click, and the guy hadn't even recognized him. He gets as far as saying that he was downstairs at the bar before Neymar runs out of the room, screaming that he has to pee because of the excitement.

So Leo turns to Luis, wanting to give credit where it's due since Cristiano had been the one who sparked his inspiration.

Except by then, Luis has moved on discussing the tweaks they'd made to 'Treble' during the live video and how apparently it's all over YouTube and Geri really wants them to do the new version at the Bernabéu this weekend.

"We can't possibly have the entire song reworked for this weekend," Leo says dumbly, Cristiano forgotten, as the setlist flashes through his mind. "And if we do, it's not going to make any sense if we play 'CL' before it and 'El Pistolero' after!"

Luis is saying something about moving 'La Pulga' later and bumping up 'Tiki-Taka,' but Leo's already getting a headache. "Luis, the programs are already printed out, the shirts made ages ago... The designers are going to *hate* you! Hell, I think the sound guys will too. We wrote the order in stone months ago and we've been rehearsing it non-stop. Now you want to change things only a few days before the gig?"

Luis puts his hands on Leo's shoulders. "Listen," he says calmly. "We don't have to do anything, alright?" And when Leo nods, Luis smiles. "Geri was just suggesting it, okay? I didn't say yes, I just said I'd run it by you."

Leo feels silly now. "Sorry," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Well, shit. Didn't mean to meltdown there." He thinks that he's still tired despite how long he's slept.

Luis gives him a look. "I've seen you have a meltdown and we're far from it. But also, that said, changing the setlist isn't that big of a deal. I know it's all about your flow, and how you think it shows us best, but it's alright to change sometimes. Yeah, it screws up the merch, but don't you think that the fans would be okay with that if it meant they'd get to hear something special?" He grins then. "You might say that they'd love the *opportunity* to see the *best show*."

Leo hits Luis in the chest. "Hey! You are not allowed to use my lyrics against me. That's like rule number one in the band."

Luis just laughs.

Neymar comes back from the bathroom. Today he's wearing red velvet suspenders with silver skulls for buckles and he's still fiddling with the one. "I thought the new number one was no fucking each other." He looks between them and frowns a little. "Trust me," he says sadly. "It's been tough for me to avoid thinking dirty thoughts after Berlin. Even after so much time has passed." Then he brightens. "I have to say, though, it's been ages since I've considered us having a threesome again. I think I've grown."

"See what you've done," Leo says to Luis, hitting him again.

"Me?!" Luis says. "You heard him. He's *grown*," he says mockingly. "He doesn't think about Berlin anymore. Now he probably only thinks about sucking your dick fifty percent of the time as opposed to a hundred percent of the time."

Neymar squawks beside them but doesn't deny it, and Leo dies a little bit inside.

Berlin had been... Well, it had been fun--but that was the last time they were ever going to drink that much. Leo had been sore for a week after that, and the hickies on his neck had taken longer than that to heal. (He'd actually had to take up Sergio's offer of scarves during that time.) Luis hadn't been able to look him in the eye for ages, whereas Neymar had been utterly disappointed that it was a one-time thing. They'd all agreed it was wiser not to start messing around, though--didn't want to risk ruining things.

It had resulted in one of Leo's favorite songs though. Conveniently titled, 'Berlin,' it was popular with the fans too. They just didn't need to know who and what it was really about.

Neymar still brought up the night every few months--just in case Leo had changed his mind. (For the record, Leo hadn't, hasn't, and definitely won't ever change his mind.)

If it weren't for the fact that they have to get ready for a dress rehearsal, Leo would probably go lock himself in one of the bedrooms and try to write something so Neymar finally gives up on him. As it is, Umtiti is already letting Sergio into the suite, and Leo has better things to worry about.

The next two hours are spent with Leo trying on a handful of different outfits and letting Sergio tell him how they're all wrong. Apparently everyone's decided that Leo needs to wear more color ("We voted and everything," Luis admits under pressure.), and as a result, Sergio's looking to expand Leo's collection of leather pants to every color under the sun. Thankfully Sergio nixes most of them as soon as Leo pulls them on. "No, that's terrible. No, not with your skin," Sergio murmurs. "Next, next," tossing him pair after pair. Leo's not sure he could have actually made himself leave the suite with some of them--he's pretty sure he looks like a highlighter in the bright yellows and pinks.

He's only proved right when Neymar pops his head in and starts asking Sergio where they're from.

Grudgingly, Leo accepts a few new things to add to his wardrobe. Aside from his new leathers, he chooses several new shirts from the pile. Of course, they're all with ripped sleeves or artsy holes, but he avoids the ones which are basically completely see-through and/or mesh. He picks things because they'll be comfortable to perform in and he won't sweat through them immediately. Jewel tones seem to be the ones he's most accepting of. Dark red, dark blue, dark green, dark purple. Two very dark gray--they're pretty much black--vests.

His favorites out of everything Sergio has brought him are surprisingly a pair of dark purple leather pants with an excess of decorative zippers across the faux pockets and down the legs. Leo's not sure in what world he would ever think he'd be wearing such a thing, but they look better on him than he thought they would. The zippers don't make any sense at all, but the color is striking. They're not even comparable to any of the electric purples Neymar's been wearing lately, and actually closer to black than anything else.

Sergio informs him gleefully that the correct color is burgundy.

In any case, the result is a very deep purple that will look good with the stage lighting. They're put into the pile of things he's keeping before he puts on a pair of his regular black ones to see how some new jackets look.

"They're *in* right now, Leo! Trust me," Sergio urges, as Leo shrugs on jacket after jacket. This is yet another black one, though it has dark red ("Currant! It's not red, it's currant!") panels and studs swirled into a pattern down the back. Leo's put his foot down about performing in them because it's simply not practical, but he agrees to wear them to and from shows. Neymar and Luis already own a bunch, so he knows he won't stick out like a sore thumb.

As if summoned by the very thought, Neymar appears again having finished choosing his outfit for rehearsal. This time he's wearing a bright red leather jacket with orange flames down the lapel. He's bare-chested aside from his suspenders, but black leather leggings and red sneakers complete the look along with vibrant eyeshadow and other eye makeup. "That looks good, Leo," he says, sounding honest. He plays with one of the gold hoops in his ear as he contemplates everything. "It's subtle. Definitely you." He lifts his hands to his hair and does some twisty thing that ends with his curls being made into a little bun.

This results in his jacket sliding up and showing exactly how low his leathers are on his waist.

Sergio openly ogles him as he helps Leo take the jacket off again. "Those hipbones kill me every time. Are you sure I can't help dress you?" he asks Neymar. "Just once, I swear," Sergio begs, hanging the jacket up next to a few others that Leo's accepted. "My talents are being wasted here!" He waves a hand at where Leo's standing awkwardly. "But you... the things you could wear..."

Neymar preens, brushing by Sergio to peer in the mirror and wipe away an imaginary speck of mascara from under his eye. "I do very well on my own, thank you very much." He smiles moves to put his arm around Leo. "Besides, you aren't being wasted on Leo. I haven't seen him wear his crocs in ages! You've done wonders for him."

"That's because I threw the crocs out somewhere over Manchester," Sergio reveals, over Leo's outraged gasp.

"You did what?!" Leo fumes.

"Yes, but," Neymar continues, squeezing Leo to quiet him. "Honestly, you've done so well with him on top of that. Everyone thinks he's so stylish--his mag covers are flawless and you and I both know everything he wears flies off the shelves." That's news to Leo who looks over at his purple pants suspiciously. "He barely even flinches any more when he puts on his eyeliner--and hey, the tattoos were all his idea," Neymar finishes, holding up Leo's hand to show off Leo's new sleeve.

Sergio purses his lips. "That's true." Apparently appeased for the moment, he throws up his hands. "Alright, how are we doing on time? Leo, get back into the purple pants. You're definitely wearing them tonight to see how they look on stage. Maybe they'll be good for this weekend if we can light you right."

"I thought you said they were--," Leo says, sitting down so he can start squeezing into the pants again.

"Yes, they're burgundy colored," Sergio hisses, moving hangers this way and that as he tried to decide on a top. "But you are never going to remember that, are you? It's purple to you, heathen." He ignores the way Leo's struggling to get into the skintight pants and selects a sleeveless dark purple shirt that's got artful slashes in it. "This shirt," he orders before sorting through a case of jewelry. "These bracelets," he mutter, pulling out some black and silver beaded cuffs. "And today you're wearing a necklace," he announces, slapping it down on the dresser like he can't hear Leo protesting.

"That's too much jewelry," Leo groans, pants finally zipped. He wiggles his hips and adjusts himself awkwardly before he sulks over to the dresser to look at the necklace.

Luis finally joins them. "What's too much?" He's got his regular black jeans on, but he's wearing a black v-neck shirt and has a long necklace on himself. "That's not bad at all, Leo," he says, eyeing the chain Sergio's picked out.

"The fact that I'm wearing purple should be enough," Leo says, slightly miffed, but he pulls on the shirt and the necklace. The cuffs require Sergio's help, as they're actually fastened with a tiny little link and Leo doesn't have the dexterity. Afterward, he sits down on the bed again so he can lace up his boots. When he's finished, not really paying attention to Luis, Neymar, and Sergio's chatter, he stands up and puts his arms out for inspection. "Good?"

Sergio tosses him a black pencil. "Eyes first, idiot."

Leo sighs, lining his eyes thickly and then tossing the pencil back. He accepts a little hair gel that Sergio quickly musses through his hair, and then one of the new black leather jackets. This one's a bit fitted and has three quarter length sleeves. "Perfect," Sergio murmurs, pushing Leo back in front of the mirror so he can see himself. "I'm brilliant. Also, your ass is to die for in these pants."

Leo bites back what he thinks Sergio should do with his brilliance, but seeing himself all made up is always such a trip.

Though it shouldn't have, the tiniest bit of hair product has made his hair artfully messy as opposed to totally askew. The dark strands gently fall across his forehead and the top is casually wavy. His eyeliner has enhanced his eyes, making them darker and more mysterious, masking a bit of his true face while creating a new one. The leather jacket is different. But it makes him look lean and dangerous, and he likes that the sleeves leave his forearms bare to show off his new ink along with the shiny cuffs on his wrists. The dark purple shirt looks strange at first, especially with the silver necklace, but the rips are strategically placed and reveal only the tiniest hint of the silver bar through his right nipple. And when paired with the tight wine colored leathers it gives the whole look a pop when finished with the black combat boots.

"I think I like it," Leo says, meeting Sergio's eyes in the mirror. Behind him, Luis and Neymar dissolve into laughter as they start to prepare to leave. Thankfully this doesn't include much work, as basically all they need are their phones and their instruments. There's some panic when Neymar can't find both his phone and his drumsticks, but just as Leo predicted, Luis finds the phone in the couch.

Leo eventually finds the drumsticks in the bowl of fruit on the table by the door. He hates to admit it, but half blocked by a pineapple, and right next to a banana, the tan wood really blended in. Nobody's sure if Neymar put them there on purpose, by accident, or if he just was really trying to challenge their drumstick finding skills. Either way, Neymar hugs them happily while everyone exchanges glances over his head.

"Oh, Leo, shades!" Sergio reminds him, just as they're walking out the door. "We didn't try on any of the new ones!" His voice is ringing with disappointment, but he digs out a pair he thinks will work and practically throws them at Leo.

Leo's more than ready to get out of there. He and Luis both have guitars strapped to their backs while Neymar is hugging his keyboard case to his chest. His drumsticks are now stuck down the front of his leggings for safekeeping. Leo and Luis don't really need to take the guitars, since they'll be using the normal electric ones at rehearsal, but they still like to have something to do on the bus.

Casemiro and Umtiti look impatient, their earpieces in as they mechanically relay into their mics for those at the ground level that they're waiting on sunglasses. Yes, sunglasses. But Sergio won't be denied. "Yes, perfect," Sergio says, as Leo dons the black glasses. "I definitely deserve a raise."

Leo doesn't bother replying, since this is what Sergio says every time he dresses him. "We're good," Leo tells Casemiro, receiving a nod in return. After that, it's just a matter of fitting in the elevator with the guitars and preparing for what's about to happen when they hit the lobby. "The press know we're here yet?"

Umtiti nods. "Yep. Somebody blabbed. The hotel's been able to keep them outside for the most part, but of course, they'll be taking pictures through the windows as soon as we exit the elevator. Ton of fans there too. Word travels fast." He listens to his earpiece for a second and then continues. "There's a small crowd of fans waiting inside, however, who are guests of the hotel and therefore have been allowed access. About thirty, forty, maybe. Unavoidable."

Beside him, Luis and Neymar both put on sunglasses to protect their eyes.

The average phone doesn't have a flash nearly as powerful as the cameras the paparazzi used, of course, but that doesn't mean it isn't blinding after a while.

"You know the drill. A handful of pictures or autographs in the lobby, but try to keep moving. And don't stop once we're outside. We've got the team waiting out there and have blocked off a path. Go from the entrance to the bus as soon as possible. Xavi and Andrés are already waiting." Casemiro takes the position in front of Neymar. Luis and Leo line up behind him and Umtiti takes the rear. "Approaching the ground floor," Casemiro says into his mic. And then, "Here we go."

They can hear the screaming even before the elevator doors open.

*****

It's not that Leo particularly minds rehearsal.

Standing up on the stage and belting his heart out is easy. He knows the songs like the back of his hand and never forgets a word. How could he? Those songs are his life. He can feel the beat under his feet, vibrating through his body with every word he sings. One moment he's back to back with Luis, his friend's solid muscle leaning against him as they share the standing mic, and the next minute he's striding over to put the focus onto Neymar at the drums.

There's a rush that comes with performing.

Leo can't even begin to put it into words, though he's always tried. His notebook is full of unfinished songs about the subject. But none of his words can describe what it feels like to stand up there and be worshipped by a hundred thousand people. When he stands up there, soaked with sweat after hours of singing, with the music pounding, with the pyrotechnics shooting off behind him? His body might be aching, but he's a fucking *god*.

But the rehearsal itself...

It's not nearly as exciting as the real thing.

No matter how much they try to mimic what a real performance will be, it's not quite possible. There *aren't* a hundred thousand people packed into an arena, singing along with him, dancing as he dances, screaming his name in ecstasy.

Security is there. The sound guys are there. The lighting crew. The stage crew. His photographers. The videographers. Makeup and wardrobe assistants on occasion. Yes, there are a ton of people who have to come together to pull off a production like this, but that number is nowhere near to a full house.

And it's *slower*. And *longer*.

The show is already hours long, but rehearsal takes much longer.

They finish one song and don't go right into another. They take a good long while to watch it playback a few times, remove their IEMs and listen to how it sounds and figure out if it's good enough. It's easier to catch their breath than it is with a real show, and Leo's feet hurt as they all sit on the edge of the stage together and chug water while they wait. Luis has time to crack jokes about how they can see through Neymar's leggings a little too much, and Neymar has time to throw his drumsticks at Luis' head whenever he wants.

Sometimes it's more of a chill, hangout session.

Technically they're working.

Amidst the insults and laughter.

There are lots of things to stop and consider--especially when they're at the venue for the first time that year. And of course, there's always feedback from the crew--or from amongst themselves--as they move around and try to see what feels right. The Bernabéu is huge, but that just means they have a ton of options for how to do everything. They don't want their shows always to be the same, so they rethink the lights and the design, have to decide if they want to keep the same layout or not. They'd been thinking bright, white lights, for the most part, interspersed with red and blue. Then they have to set up the fog machines and make sure they're not too close to the pyrotechnics or else nothing will work correctly.

Is it loud?

Is it too loud?

Are the amps even working?

Why are they only working some of the time, and how do they fix that?

Leo leaves most of these decisions up to the highly knowledgable crew and instead just focuses on what he can do to make the show his best. This includes making sure he knows when he's supposed to be wearing his guitar versus when he's just supposed to be carrying around his handheld mic. Being the lead vocalist doesn't necessarily come naturally to him, so he often feels the need to share the spotlight with Luis and Ney, or try to spice up his performance with some ridiculous twirling or jumps.

(He thinks it's ridiculous, but apparently everyone else loves it.)

Still, when Leo leaps off a platform at the end of 'Tiki-Taka,' he makes sure he sees the playback so he can try to understand if it looks good or if it just looks like he has no idea what he's doing. (Leo tends to vote for the latter, despite Neymar's enthused applauding.) He doesn't have any real choreography, and tends to just make up his movements on the spot. But it's supposed to be the finale, so he's practicing and it's either go big or go home.

Sergio shows up around that time to give a big thumbs up to the purple pants. He and Geri have some long discussion with the lighting guys that seems to involve ways to shoot Leo from the side so that his best assets are on display. Xavi and Andrés join the huddle halfway through, and that's when Leo knows he's doomed. ("Get it, Leo? *Ass*ets," Neymar says, hiding his face in Luis' shoulder as he giggles madly.)

No, it's not that Leo particularly minds rehearsal. But he's definitely relieved when they finish.

He hands his electric guitar over to a tech carefully, watching and making sure it's put back into the case. It'll get locked up with Luis', and stacked neatly next to Neymar's drum set. All of it will be ready for when they come back and rehearse throughout the week. Still, his hands feel empty for a while, and it's not until he's back on the bus with his pencil and notebook that he feels more like himself. He could use one of the spare guitars they brought for downtime, but it's the pencil he's drawn to--even if no lyrics are coming to mind.

Thankfully it's a short trip back to the hotel, especially at this hour.

Neymar shrugs his jacket back on a few minutes into the ride, complaining about the air conditioning, but Leo is still sweating his ass off so his new black jacket stays on the seat next to him. "Don't you dare catch a cold," Leo says to Neymar. "If we end up having to cancel this weekend, I'll be sure Xavi knows who to blame. Maybe you should have worn a shirt under those suspenders."

Neymar looks at him in askance. "Leo," he says very slowly as if he's speaking to a child. "That would have ruined the look." He opens his jacket to look down at his bare chest. "Imagine covering this up," he grumbles. "Thank goodness I know you're completely clueless about fashion, or else one of these days I'd be offended."

Leo sticks out his tongue.

Just to prove he really is a child.

"The fire is a bit much," Luis says. He runs a hand down his t-shirt. "Sometimes less is more, you know?" Then to Leo, "Though Ney is right about the suspenders. They're not really meant to be worn with a shirt."

Neymar fist bumps Luis. "See?"

Leo stares at Neymar's jacket. He's very sure he'll never understand fashion, but his fingers are itching and he gropes for the pencil. "Backbeat, the word was on the street that the fire in your heart is out..." He scribbles, half in a daze as he stares at the flames. "I'm sure you've heard it all before? But you never really had a doubt." When he looks down, he realizes that his words are in anything but a straight line.

Yet, there's something there.

Neymar and Luis haven't noticed, and their bonding over Leo's silliness has dissolved into bickering over whether it's alright to wear all white year round. Ney's apparently got some vintage Birgit Prinz 2003 concert tee he's dying to wear with white pants, but Luis just keeps shaking his head.

It doesn't really matter at the moment, because nothing else comes to Leo then and there. He goes back and rewrites the lyrics so they're legible. The last thing he wants to do is not be able to read his own writing, though of course, he rarely forgets something once it's written down in the notebook. He thinks he'll wait until the song is finished before he tells Neymar that his stupid jacket with the flames down the front was responsible for Leo's inspiration.

It makes him smile, though, and that draws his friends' attention.

"What are you smiling at?" Luis asks. He doesn't sound as raspy as he did after the show last night, which is definitely a relief. The last thing they need is both him *and* Neymar getting sick. "You have something to add to this argument?" He shakes his head and reaches to grab another bottle of water from the cooler. "Yeah, right."

"There's no way," Neymar says, pulling his hair down from his bun and fluffing it a bit. "Wait? Do you?"

Leo's saved from answering as they pull into the hotel parking lot. It's just before midnight, so there aren't as many people waiting for them as there had been earlier. That just means there's maybe a hundred as opposed to a few hundred. Still, hotel security has lined up to allow them to enter the building safely.

When Casemiro and Umtiti are ready, they all put their sunglasses on again and head out into the fray again. "I wear my sunglasses at night, I wear my sunglasses at night," Neymar sings into Leo's ear while they practically run for the hotel entrance. "Sing it with me!"

Leo can't help laughing as they begin to sprint through the lobby.

There were fans waiting for them there, but they must not have realized that the bus had finally arrived. As a result, most people are at the bar or the restaurant, or lounging around on the comfortable chairs placed throughout the lobby. This gives Leo and the others an advantage as they make a break for the elevator.

After the elevator doors close safely behind them, Luis leans against the side of the car. "You know, Ney," he says, trying to catch his breath. "I was right about what I said before."

Neymar's looking at his hair in the mirrored wall. "What's that?" He fluffs it some more with his fingers, pulling his curls this way and that until he's satisfied. "I'm not talking about your silly rules for wearing white again. We're just going to have to agree to disagree about that."

Luis grins. "Not that," he says lazily, tugging on the chest strap of his guitar like he's pleased with himself. "But your leggings really are see-through. I think you just gave everyone in the lobby a free show."

Leo steps behind Casemiro for protection and away from the resulting tussle. Umtiti is too busy laughing, but Casemiro manages to smirk and still keep his body in front of Leo.

He's just thankful the elevator trip is a short one.

Neymar and Luis have never done well in small spaces.

The bickering continues even after they reach their floor. "All I'm saying is, nobody wants the cow if they're giving the milk away for free," Luis says, setting his guitar down and peeling off his shirt. "Think about that!" He makes a break for the shower while Neymar's still fuming.

Leo wipes off his makeup immediately. Then he starts to take off his jewelry. He sets the necklace on the table and holds his hand up to Neymar for help with the bracelet. "Why do you even bother?" he asks as Neymar stomps over to help him. "You know he's just messing with you." Between the two of them, they get the cuff off and Leo puts it with his necklace so he doesn't lose it.

Neymar kicks off his sneakers and collapses on the couch dramatically. "Well, he shouldn't! I might take him seriously!"

Now free of his shiny shackles, Leo strips off his shirt and balls it up in his hand. "I think you'll live. Somehow." He tosses the shirt towards where Luis left his, starting a pile that probably shouldn't be in the middle of the floor. "Do you want the next shower or can I have it?"

Neymar crosses his arms and pouts. "You can have it. Because you're my favorite now."

"Now?" Leo asks, raising his eyebrows. "Does that mean I wasn't your favorite before?" He laughs as he bends down to unlaces his boots. Once they're loose, he kicks them off and groans at how good it feels. Neymar's looking over at him in dismay and Leo just shakes his head. "Relax, Ney, I'm kidding!" he says, adding his socks to the laundry pile and massaging his feet slightly. Sometimes his feet swell after a long day, but they're looking okay.

Neymar grumbles again but he pulls his drumsticks out and spins them around between his fingers. "I know it's late, but I don't feel very tired. You wanna go get a drink after this?" He does some complicated spin and grins when he pulls it off without a hitch.

Honestly, that sounds like the last thing Leo wants to do. He's not tired, but... Venturing out into public means that after his shower, he'll have to get redressed in one of his Sergio approved downtime outfits, redo his makeup, and put on these boots again. "Ummm," he says, trying to stall while he figures out how to say no politely.

Neymar laughs. He tosses up one of his drumsticks and attempts to catch it. Lying prone makes it a bit difficult, and instead of looking flashy, he just looks stupid as it nearly smacks him in the face. "Not out," he explains. "Xavi told me earlier. Iker? The hotel manager? He apologized for the press leak. There's a private bar and lounge area that's been reserved all week for us and our team to use. It's only on the tenth floor, so if you can handle an elevator ride...?"

Leo brightens at the idea of privacy. "Alright then, I guess that would be okay. I could use some more tea."

"Tea, Leo? Come on, dude. You could just have tea here. Why even go to the bar then?" Neymar sighs in exasperation. "Does a bar even have tea?" He tosses his drumstick in the air again, this time successfully catching it. "Aha! Did you see that?"

Leo is just about to explain that why yes, the hotel bars do indeed have tea and he'd had some earlier, but Luis reappears from the shower.

"Finished," Luis calls from the hallway, bending down to search through his open suitcase. He really should have dragged it into his room so that he could get dressed there as opposed to out in the open, but none of them have ever been good about doing stuff like that. Besides, they've all seen each other in varying states of undress, so nobody really bats an eye when he drops his towel to pull on another pair of jeans.

Leo heads for the shower.

It takes him longer to peel off his leather pants due to how much he's sweating than it does to actually do anything else. He dumps them on the floor and mentally makes a note to have them cleaned so he can wear them for the weekend show like Sergio wants. Then he's in the shower. All he's really doing is rinsing off real quick with one of Neymar's fruity smelling body washes. Admittedly his hair should be washed too, so he takes a minute to scrub some of Neymar's shampoo in as well. He'll shower again before bed, probably, so this is just to make sure he doesn't smell like death for the next few hours.

Neymar storms into the bathroom as soon as he's finished, though he's giggling slightly so Leo's pretty sure the thundering stride is just for Luis' benefit. But he does slam the door and nearly destroys Leo's eardrums, so that's a bit annoying.

Luis is sitting on the couch and smiling. He gestures to the table. "I made tea," he says innocently, as Leo notes the two cups next to the small, silver teapot. "Chamomile looked best out of the selection here, although I'm sure they'll have whatever you really want when you go downstairs." He lifts the lid of the teapot and peers inside. "It's about ready, but you know, I'm not sure there's enough sugar for you. We'll steal some more from the bar."

Leo stifles a laugh. He rubs his head with his towel, drying his hair the best he can, before grabbing a blue and white striped shirt from his suitcase. "I like chamomile," he admits, pulling on the same sweatpants he was wearing this morning. Once changed, he pads over to join Luis on the couch. "It's different from what I usually order, but it's good."

"Ney's in a strop, but don't let him bully you. He doesn't really care if you want tea," Luis says, pouring for them. He digs out a few sugar packets that are sandwiched between the fake sugar and other odd sweeteners, slapping them on the table in front of Leo. "That won't be enough, but hope you can still drink it."

"Of course I can still drink it," Leo mumbles, tearing them open eagerly to add to his tea. The resulting drink is sweet enough for the average person, but not as sweet as he would prefer. He definitely would add more if they were available, however, as it is, he's not going to refuse hot tea. "Thank you." It feels wonderful to drink--reminds him of how good that tea this morning felt.

That reminds him, he didn't ever get to tell Luis and Neymar about Cristiano.

"Funny story," Leo says, and Luis raises his eyebrows. "Earlier, the bartender thought I was a hooker."

Luis bursts out laughing, nearly spilling his own unsweetened tea all over himself and the couch. He manages to hold the cup aloft as he trembles with mirth, slapping his knee with glee. "I'm dying! How did you not mention this earlier? Wait, did you tell Ney and not me? How could you?!"

Leo makes a face and then sips his tea calmly. "You distracted me every time I started to think about it! And no, I didn't tell Neymar so shut it." He slouches slightly and puts his bare feet up on the table to get comfortable. "Mmmm. The tea made me just think of it now."

Luis is still giggling, but he sits cross-legged on the couch and slowly manages to get himself under control. "Tell me."

The whole story comes out then as the two of them sit there on the couch drinking their tea like it's mid-afternoon as opposed to just after midnight. Leo explains the whole thing, from his outfit to when he gave his room number, and the response he got from Cristiano.

Luis can't quite believe it. "Even without your eyeliner, you still look like you. I mean, really? He didn't make the connection at all?" He sets his teacup down on the table and shakes his head. "What a weirdo. Is he living under a rock or what?"

Leo shrugs. "But Luis," he says, trying to explain. "It was actually nice... He didn't *know* me. I haven't been able to have a conversation with anybody in so long, without them already knowing everything about me." He takes another sip of his chamomile. "And sure, Cristiano was making smart-ass comments about how tea was good for sore throats and assumed I was a groupie but... It was nice."

Luis pours himself another cup, holding the teapot up for Leo in case he wants more. Leo's still savoring the first cup so he passes.

"In a weird way," Luis says, setting the teapot down, "it's like he thinks you're fucking yourself. You--Leo--are fucking Messi." He shakes his head again. "Or maybe Messi's fucking Leo. I don't rightly know. Or maybe I'm fucking you. Or Ney is." Luis smiles as he picks up his now filled cup and takes another sip. "Not that we haven't done that in the past obviously, but mmm, but tell me again how he made fun of your sugar obsession. That's cute."

"He was funny," Leo admits. "I liked him." He sticks out his tongue again. "He at least gave me more sugar than you did."

Luis starts humming. "Pour some sugar on me," he sings and looks at him knowingly. "You liked him," he repeats. "And you said he looked like a model." He raises his eyebrows as he thinks about that. "Maybe we should try to find him again. I bet he'll give you some sugar. 'Bout time you got laid. You've been super tense lately."

"I have not!" Leo hisses, flushing as the conversation turns. "Yeah, it's been a while, but..." He busies himself with his tea as his toes curl around the edge of the table. "I haven't had time," he finishes weakly.

It's such an obvious lie that Luis takes pity on him. "Sure, Leo. Sure."

Luis is quiet for a few minutes, and Leo starts to think that they've dropped this topic. Of course, that's not to be.

"Leo, in all seriousness, it wouldn't hurt to go talk to him again. Would it? You said yourself that you liked him. He didn't recognize you and that you enjoyed that. Nothing wrong with maybe having another conversation and experiencing that anonymity again." Luis sips delicately at his tea. He's often seen as a brutish guy, but the way he holds his cup tells a different story. "It's not... I mean, we both know nothing will ever come from it. You obviously lead different lives, and we're leaving here after the Madrid shows are over, but... Why not enjoy yourself while you can?"

Leo bites his lip. "You think I should? Or could? I just feel like if I do see him again, he's definitely going to know who I am. I'll have pushed my chances too far. He'll have figured it out."

Luis finishes his tea and sets his cup on the table. "You said it yourself, he didn't seem to know you when you were all dressed down." He looks at Leo's t-shirt and sweatpants. "Cover your tats just to be safe, but," he shrugs. "If he didn't know you this morning, I doubt he'll know you now."

And then less helpful, "I mean if you get to the point where your shirt is coming off, I think the tats will be the least of your worries because your nipple piercing is probably going to give your lifestyle away."

Leo flushes again. "And in what scenario am I taking off my shirt down at the bar?"

Luis laughs. "Well, I don't know, but like I said. It's not like you're ever gonna date the guy. But you know, a one night stand isn't out of the question. Or, you know, just go make out with him in some dark corner. No harm in a little fun. Make the most of this *opportunity*."

"Who's Leo making out with?" Neymar asks, freshly showered. He's already redone his makeup and his hair is teased up into a faux mohawk. He's wearing a rather tame yellow shirt with green stars on it paired with black jeans and black boots. "Also are you guys ready to go or is the tea party going to continue while you two old biddies chat it up? But also, really, who is Leo making out with and why don't I already know about this?"

"Just for that," Luis says as he stands up, "I'm not telling you. It's a secret."

"Oh yeah, well, I already know!" Neymar retorts as he starts digging through a jewelry box. "It's... it's..." He stands there thinking as adds a ring to his thumb and then twirls it aimlessly. "It's not that stupid Kun Agüero, is it Leo? Because I told you a thousand times you can do better than him." He scrunches up his face and then tries to look supportive. "But is it him because I guess he doesn't totally suck. His hair is awful, but I do like that one song of his... What's it called? Ah-ha! '93:40'--that's it."

"I think you mean '93:20,'" Leo says. "But I haven't been making out with anybody, let alone Kun Agüero. I'm sure he's seeing somebody right now, isn't he? And when's the last time the Cityzens were even in the same country as us?" Leo asks. "I think they're touring in Germany."

Neymar shuts the box with a click. "Well, I don't know! Weren't they at the Grammys with us this year? I can't remember, okay?" He harrumphs. "Fine, so if it isn't him, who is it? Because I can't remember the last time you even showed the slightest interest in anybody who isn't us. And I know those recent rumors about you hooking up with Orlando Pride's lead singer are totally fake. For obvious reasons."

"Wait, who? Marta? What? No. I--it's nobody," Leo protests, half distracted because he wasn't even aware there was a rumor about him and Marta. He shakes his head. "Never mind." Cristiano probably doesn't even remember him, let alone want to kiss him, and now Luis is turning this into some big stupid thing. He gulps the last sip of his chamomile, ignoring how it's tepid now. He's definitely tasted more appetizing things. "Luis is just messing with you again." He sets his empty cup on the table a little harder than he means to. "Didn't you want to go to the bar?"

For once, Neymar holds his tongue. He exchanges a look with Luis. "Alright, then. Let's go."

Leo feels a bit like he's kicked a puppy, but he slips his feet into his slides and grabs one of his hoodies. Even though the tenth floor bar is reserved for them and they're not going to run into any of the general public, he still feels like he'll be more comfortable this way. "You're sure it's for our private use?" Leo asks one more time as they all ride down in the elevator.

Neymar nods and Umtiti confirms it. "Definitely. The manager wants us to come back here the next time we're in town. He wouldn't want to piss you off." Umtiti claps Leo on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll double-check just in case."

True to his word, once they step off onto the tenth floor, Umtiti takes the lead as they go down the corridor and follow the signs for the bar. At the door, Umtiti motions for them to wait and then steps inside. After a second, he returns. "Nobody there except the bartender. You're good to go."

Leo lets out a sigh of relief.

It's short-lived.

Because as soon as he steps inside, he sees that the lone bartender is Cristiano. He looks just as he had this morning, still utterly gorgeous and intimidating. "Oh my god," he hisses at Luis, smacking him on the arm. "That's him! That's Cristiano from downstairs!" He darts back into the hallway to where Umtiti is standing, suddenly panicking, and Neymar and Luis follow him in confusion.

"That was him?" Luis asks, opening the door slightly so he can see the bartender again. "Alright, I can see the model thing. He's certainly got the height. Bit of a pretty boy, too," he says before shutting the door and turning back to Leo. "Well, go talk to him! What are we doing out here?" He stares at Leo like he doesn't understand the problem. "This is the perfect moment."

"Are you crazy? I can't! Not now. I can't talk to him if you guys are with me!" Leo says, scratching a hand through his hair. He didn't even brush it after his shower and it's a damp mess. "If he sees me with you," he says, gesturing toward them in exasperation, "he's going to put two and two together and figure it out."

"I'm confused," Neymar says, leaning against the wall and watching Leo try not to hyperventilate. "Why are we out here, who are we talking about, and what's happening? Wait, is this who you made out with?"

Luis holds up a hand and motions for him to wait patiently. Surprisingly, Neymar nods. "Are you sure?" Luis asks Leo. "Are you sure he won't just think the same thing he did this morning?"

Leo shuts his eyes. "So you really want him to think I'm a groupie? How does that help me at all?" He absolutely regrets telling Luis anything now. And agreeing to go to the bar instead of staying up in their room and drinking more tea. "What is even the point?"

"The point," Luis says gently, giving him a little squeeze, "is that you get to have another conversation with somebody who doesn't know who you really are." He smiles when Leo opens his eyes. "You said that was a nice feeling. I want you to have that again."

"Wait, so this guy met Leo and didn't recognize him? And you still made out with him?" Neymar interrupts, sounding utterly confused. "What, does he live under a rock or something?"

Umtiti mutters something in agreement.

Luis laughs and lets go of Leo to hit Neymar on the shoulder. "That's exactly what I said!"

Leo takes a deep breath. "Can you bond over that later, please?" he asks through gritted teeth. "And, for the last time, I did not make out with anybody!" he adds, staring at Neymar seriously. "What should I do?" He pulls his hands into the sleeves of his sweatshirt so that he can clench them into fists without being overly obvious. "Can you just--," he shakes his head. "Can you help me?"

Luis rolls his eyes. "Of course we will, Leo!"

Neymar immediately comes over to throw his arms around Leo. "Whatever you want us to do!" Leo's aware of the fact that Neymar's makeup is possibly rubbing off onto his sweatshirt, but regardless, Leo lets himself be hugged. "I'm a perfect wingman, you know," Neymar whispers. "Way better than Luis."

"Alright, wingman," Luis says, separating Neymar from Leo with some difficulty. When Neymar's paying attention to him again, Luis gestures toward the door. "Listen up. Leo met the bartender earlier, and for whatever reason, this guy thought since Leo was staying at the penthouse, he was a groupie or a hooker or whatever." While Neymar dies laughing, Luis continues, "Cristiano--that's his name--obviously didn't recognize Leo and must not know much about M.S.N."

"He saw me with my notebook," Leo says. "I said I was a songwriter, but he didn't really seem all that convinced. He thought I was a groupie for sure."

"So all we have to do is just go along with Leo's story," Neymar says, wiping away some tears from his eyes. Some of his mascara smears, but he doesn't appear overly worried. "Leo's our songwriter. He's not Messi."

"I just think that if he sees me with you two," Leo says, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "It's clear you guys are rockers, and then here I am in my sweats again..." He sighs. "I really don't like the idea of lying to him."

"You're never going to see him again after this week," Luis reminds him. "Let's just go in, have a drink, maybe have some conversation. It'll be okay. Just relax and enjoy yourself. Forget what I said earlier about making out."

"Shirts stay on," Leo says smiling slightly.

"Shirts stay on," Luis repeats.

"Wait, shirts? What does that even mean?" Neymar asks, looking down at his own shirt. "Why would we be taking our shirts off at the bar?"

"Never you mind," Luis says. "Let's do this. And remember, it's Leo the songwriter. Don't mention too much band stuff. This guy doesn't need to know about rehearsal and all that. If we're lucky, he won't ask too many questions." He says it to both of them, but more to Neymar, since he's the one staring at Luis in confusion.

Leo takes a deep breath. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a shitty couple of days and I'm gonna have a shitty couple more. There are few days in April which are particularly triggering for me but I won't go into detail about them except to say they suck lol. Football was always my great distraction from how bad things got in RL, and not having it now is really not helping.
> 
> Anyways I didn't post any fic yesterday and I wasn't going to post any today, breaking my little fic fest streak, but I figured I'll post another one of these chapters to tide people over since people seemed to like this.
> 
> Notes until I make footnotes:  
> -'CL' aka Champions League  
> -'El Pistolero' is a nickname for Luis Suárez  
> -'La Pulga' is Leo's nickname~ the flea  
> -'Tiki-Taka' is the famous short touch, Spanish style of possession  
> -'Berlin' ~ The Olympiastadion in Berlin is where Barcelona won the Champions League in 2015  
> -Barcelona has had several jerseys over the last few years that occasionally called highlighter kits due to the bright colors  
> -IEMs are in-ear monitors often used by musicians and performers to listen to personal vocals or music  
> -The Bernabéu is Real Madrid's home stadium and Real Madrid's home kit is usually white while Barcelona's are red and blue  
> -Leo's ass is to die for. That is all.  
> -Birgit Prinz kicked ass. She won the World Cup with the female German national team in 2003 (and again in 2007).  
> -Neymar sings Corey Hart's 'Sunglasses at night'  
> -Leo's blue and white shirt is Argentine colors :)  
> -Luis sings Def Leppard's 'Pour some sugar on me'  
> -Ney's yellow shirt/green stars is for Brazil  
> -Sergio 'Kun' Agüero scored a goal in extra time at 93 minutes and 20 seconds against QPR to win the Premier League for Manchester City in 2012  
> -Manchester City supporters are called Cityzens  
> -Orlando Pride is a NWSL team in the US  
> -Marta is a queen and plays for Orlando Pride and Brazil's female national team. Holding the record of highest scorer ever at world cups with 17 goals, she's also been the FIFA World player of the year for 6 times.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo holds his breath. "This is Luis," he says, trying to act casual while Luis holds out his hand for Cristiano to shake. "He plays bass for M.S.N.," Leo adds while the two of them size up each other. And then when Neymar pokes Leo in the side, "And Neymar. Drums and keyboard," he says when Neymar holds out his hand too. In the meantime, Leo tries not to draw too much attention to himself, sinking down in his seat as Cristiano studies both of his friends. "And they both sing, too, of course."
> 
> This is the moment. 
> 
> If Cristiano recognizes him, it's going to be right now, with him between Luis and Ney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned some fabulous art from detodores for this fic!! Just have to decide when I want to spring it on you guys haha. Hope you all like this chapter.

Umtiti opens the door for them. "Good luck, boys," he says, smiling brightly at Leo. "I'll wait out here."

Cristiano looks up as they enter, professional smile plastered across his face. It flickers a bit in surprise and awe maybe as they approach, his gaze trailing over Luis first, Neymar second, and then stopping on Leo last.

"Leo? Good to see you again," Cristiano greets, his smile changing into something a little more pleasant. "Who are your friends?" he asks, though with the way Neymar and Luis are dressed, it probably couldn't be more clear. "Wasn't really expecting anyone at this hour, but then again, you rock and roll types tend to do your own thing, don't you?"

Leo holds his breath. "This is Luis," he says, trying to act casual while Luis holds out his hand for Cristiano to shake. "He plays bass for M.S.N.," Leo adds while the two of them size up each other. And then when Neymar pokes Leo in the side, "And Neymar. Drums and keyboard," he says when Neymar holds out his hand too. In the meantime, Leo tries not to draw too much attention to himself, sinking down in his seat as Cristiano studies both of his friends. "And they both sing, too, of course."

This is the moment.

If Cristiano recognizes him, it's going to be right now, with him between Luis and Ney.

"Nice to meet you both. Can't say that I've ever met any famous musicians before," Cristiano says politely, eyeing Neymar's mohawk and Luis' tribal tattoos now that they're up close. "I hope you're enjoying your time in Madrid. Sorry about whoever leaked it that you were staying here. Iker's hoping that I can kinda erase some of the hard feelings. He sends his most sincere apologies and wants to let you know that it'll never happen again, if you choose to visit our establishment again." He sets down a few napkins in front of them. "That said, what can I get you?"

Leo lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

Before he can say anything, Cristiano's smile changes to something a little more familiar. "I already know Leo wants a bowl of hot sugar water," he teases, showing off his brilliant white teeth again. "Maybe with a touch of tea flavor."

Neymar chuckles, slapping his hand down on the bar. "I like this guy," he says to Leo and Luis. "No tea for me! I'll take a beer--whatever you recommend." He leans over the bar and peers down at everything Cristiano has set up. "And do you have any snacks? Because we should probably eat again."

As if on cue, Leo's stomach growls.

Cristiano grins.

Luis gets a beer while Neymar's perusing the menu. A minute later, Neymar's ordered nachos, olives, almonds, tortilla, guacamole and that's before the sausage pizza and platter of enchiladas. Luis and Leo watch him in amusement. "Luis? Leo? You want anything?" Neymar asks after he's sure he's listed everything he wants.

"Oh, that's not for sharing?" Cristiano asks, sounding surprised.

Leo laughs. "Ney's got a big stomach. And performing burns a lot of calories." The second he says it, he wants to take it back. The last thing he wants to do is start talking about performing and shows and make Cristiano think about M.S.N. again. "I'll have the burger and fries. Luis?" he asks quickly, sipping at the ice water Cristiano has fetched him while he's waiting for the tea to brew.

Luis waves a hand. "Just the beer for me," he says, taking a sip. "I'll eat Neymar's food if I want something."

"Oh no you won't, Gordo," Neymar retorts, looking at the menu again like he's torn. "Okay, make that two orders of beef and chicken enchiladas. And another cheeseburger. That way we'll definitely have enough. I think." Eventually, he hands it back to Cristiano. "We're good."

Cristiano smiles. "Alright, I'll send that order down right away. It shouldn't take too long. Especially for our VIP guests." Just as he's about to enter it on the computer, Neymar slaps the bar again.

"Oh, and do you have like any cookies or biscotti or anything?" Neymar asks. "I know it's not on the menu here, not really bar food at all either. But maybe they have something they serve in the restaurant for dessert and can just make an exception for us?" Before Cristiano can ask, Neymar continues, "Leo likes them with his tea."

"Neymar!" Leo says, poking him in the side. "I don't need cookies."

"He really does like them, though," Luis admits, leaning his chin on his hand. "So if you've got them, we'll pay the extra charge or whatever. He's determined to rot his teeth as best he can, and we're supporting his dreams like the good friends we are."

Leo sighs and hides his face in his hands. It still doesn't prevent him from seeing Cristiano smile.

"Cookies to go with the sugar water, got it," Cristiano says, typing the order out quickly. "They should be able to handle that. Truthfully, I expected a more outlandish request. But cookies? No big deal."

Leo shakes his head and hopes his cheeks aren't too pink.

Luis and Neymar drift over to the couches in the corner after that, drawn by a football match that's playing on the big screen. It's some obscure teams that Leo's never heard of, but both of them seem pretty interested. "You don't want to watch?" Cristiano asks, gesturing toward the tv. "I'll bring the food over to you guys when it gets up here."

Leo starts to pour out his tea, eyeing the mixture and deciding that it's the perfect color. "I'm fine here," he says quietly, sneaking a look up to see Cristiano's reaction as he begins to tear open his sugar packets. "They get rambunctious when they watch football, after all. Don't want them to knock into me and my tea."

"Your sugar water," Cristiano corrects.

Leo laughs. "Fine! I don't want them to hit my sugar water." He stirs in a couple more packets full, trying not to make too much noise with the spoon. His shaky hand still clinks around and fails him. He takes a deep breath then. "Besides, I see them all the time. I'd rather talk to you for a bit." It's bolder than he means to be, a touch flirty as opposed to friendly, but now he's said it. He looks back down at his tea so he doesn't have to see Cristiano's face.

"I'm at your service," Cristiano in response.

They're both quiet then, the only noise in the bar being Luis and Neymar's screeching at the television.

"I'm not sure what I expected," Cristiano says finally. And when Leo peeks up at him, he tilts his chin toward the corner. "For rockstars, you know? Of course, I don't know any musicians to really compare. And I fully admit that I don't really follow the music scene." He straightens. "I think I've only been to five concerts in my whole life, and most of them were when I was younger. Nowadays, I listen to music when I'm jogging and that's about it."

Leo takes a sip of his tea, savoring the sweetness and the heat. He nods to indicate he's listening.

Cristiano looks over at Luis and Neymar. "I guess if I was more of a fan, I'd be a bit star-struck. Gods in the flesh and all that." He shakes his head as Luis tries to smush Neymar into the couch cushions. "Though, I guess they're just regular people after all. Like us."

Leo clears his throat. "Of course they're regular people," he says, trying to tread carefully. "They're just... artists. Artists that love to create, and are lucky enough that they get to spend their time sharing their talents with the world." He purses his lips as Neymar suddenly twists his body and ends up putting Luis into a headlock. "Granted, they don't look like it right now..."

He and Cristiano laugh, as Luis and Neymar continue to wrestle lightly.

"They're down to earth, though," Cristiano says. "Eating pizza and drinking beer like the rest of us, joking around with me and then watching a football match on their downtime." He shrugs, his earrings glinting in the light. "And they're friends too, not just bandmates. I like that, I like that they're not all holier than thou and think everyone else is beneath them. I mean they talk to you and me like we're on the same level."

Leo's breath catches in his throat.

Cristiano sees that. "I mean, obviously you have a... closer relationship with them," he says, mistaking Leo's reaction for something different. "But, they still treat you like you're one of them. And they care about you too--I'd have to be blind not to see that."

"I really feel like I should make sure you know I'm not a groupie," Leo says, tapping his fingertips against his mug. "Because I'm not." He laughs and ducks his head. "They thought it was hilarious when I told them."

Cristiano refills Leo's water glass. "So you were laughing at me," he says sharply. "That's nice."

Leo jerks his head up. "No!" He nearly bites his tongue. "I'm sorry, no, we weren't laughing at you. Just the situation. Because we've all seen groupies and how they act, and I'm so," he blurts out, waving a hand toward himself and his sweats. "Trust me, groupies are so... They're flashy and forward and sometimes really aggressive and rude about getting what they want, no matter what they have to do to get it. And I just, I don't want you to think I'm like them."

Cristiano has his arms crossed as he considers Leo, but he doesn't seem offended any longer.

"Groupies are a different breed. Last time we were in Madrid," Leo says, staring back into his tea, "we were leaving the stadium. And some girl was *screaming* at the band how much she loved them, and how she wanted to fuck them--have their kids and some shit like that."

His lips twist.

"Not that it's rare for that to be something people are yelling out, and everybody was screaming like crazy," Leo explains. "The end of the concert is always chaotic. But this girl? She leaped off the balcony, dropping down where we were walking out. Just because she wanted m--," he catches himself there. "Wanted Neymar. And I mean, she plummeted down, nearly killed herself. Nearly landed on me as I was walking out."

"You?" Cristiano asks, sounding confused.

"Yeah," Leo says, remembering it like it was yesterday. "The band and the crew all use the same exit," he fumbles. "And she landed there, and literally didn't care about what she'd just done or who she could have hurt. Hell, she could have killed herself and it didn't even occur to her. She was just grabbing at me, trying to--trying to--to get to Ney. When security dragged her away, she was still screaming."

She'd scratched him all up with her nails, and he'd been bleeding so badly that they'd actually had him get checked out by a doctor.

He rubs his wrist absently, knowing that the faint scars are barely visible unless you know where to look.

"Is that why Neymar came with the bodyguard?" Cristiano asks. "I mean, I know people are crazy, but even here in the hotel you have to be careful?" He doesn't look annoyed at Leo anymore, and if anything he looks like he's annoyed *for* Leo. "I never really thought of groupies as being aggressive, but that sounds pretty awful."

Leo takes another sip of his tea. "We do have security with us all the time, yes... You might see Umtiti or Casemiro with us while we're here. Believe me, the band needs them. Especially when there's a crowd. Not everyone gets aggressive, of course," Leo says. "And yeah, just like there are crazy people, there are crazy fans. But there are also the good fans--the amazing people who really love the music. And truly the band loves them back! They're willing to follow us around the world and listen to us and sing along with their favorites." He smiles genuinely this time. "They buy the shirts and the records, post tributes and covers, vote for M.S.N. at award shows."

"I'm not sure I'll ever quite understand the fuss since I'm not a fan," Cristiano says, leaning his hip against the bar like he had the night before. "But I guess you're pretty involved in all that." And when Leo looks at him blankly, half horrified that Cristiano's figured him out, Cristiano prompts. "If you're writing their songs? You're pretty up close and personal with everything."

"Oh," Leo says. "Yes." He pulls his notebook out and sets it on the bar with a plop. "Never go anywhere without this. Never know when I'm going to be inspired." He licks his lips, feeling shy about sharing this but knowing he should anyway. "You actually helped me with a song, you know?"

"I did?" Cristiano looks chuffed. "How so?"

"Yeah, this morning, you gave me that word: opportunity. And it was the word I needed. Everything fell into place after that, and now I've got a new song," Leo explains, turning through his notebook until he comes to the page he'd been working on this morning. "See?"

Cristiano leans over, quite interested. "You got all that from me saying 'opportunity'? That's really something, Leo." He reads it quickly, smiling a little. "Very cool," he says then as he pushes it back in Leo's direction. "But I guess that's what you do, right. Get paid the big bucks for. How does it feel when the band finally sings it up on stage?"

Leo considers the question. "It feels strange, for the most part. But also, good? I like hearing the finished product--seeing how everybody puts their twist on it and it morphs into something special once all the voices and instruments come together. And then when the audience hears it for the first time, there's that gradual swell of enthusiasm that builds and builds." He can't hide his smile then. "It's not really describable, but I know that I've been a part of that."

"Well," Cristiano says, straightening up. "If I had any doubts about you being a songwriter, you've erased them now. I don't think anybody could replicate the look on your face right now."

Leo blushes, closing the notebook and going back to his tea.

"On that note, it looks like the food is ready so let me go get that and I'll be right back," Cristiano says, winking.

As soon as he steps out of the room, Luis and Neymar are crowding around him. "So?" Neymar asks. "He believes you're just the songwriter?" He sits down on the barstool. "I still can't believe it, but whatever."

"Of course he believes it," Luis says, taking the stool on Leo's other side. "If he didn't believe it, Leo wouldn't have stayed over here talking to him." He looks at Leo for confirmation. "Right?"

"So far so good," Leo says, letting out a deep breath. "And it was going okay. He knows now I'm not a groupie, which is really most of what I wanted anyway." He taps his fingertips on his cup. "And I told him how he influenced 'Opportunity,' and he was really excited to hear that. It was nice," he finishes.

Luis looks at Neymar knowingly. "Nice," he repeats.

"Alright," Neymar says then. "What do you need us to do now? Should we come over and talk you up? Mention some exes? Mention why you wrote 'Berlin'?" He slaps Leo's arm when he groans. "Listen, I'm your wingman, okay? I need to do whatever is gonna get you laid."

"We're not aiming for laid anymore," Luis interjects. Then he pauses and looks at Leo again. "Are we?" And when Leo gives him a withering glance, Luis nods. "Right, we're not aiming for laid--despite how badly Leo needs to get some." He ignores Leo's faint 'Hey!' "What we're doing is just letting them having a nice conversation."

Neymar looks disappointed. "But how do I help?" He gives Leo the puppy eyes. "I want to help you, Leo!"

Cristiano chooses that moment to enter the room again, pushing a cart covered with dishes. "Oh," he says, seeing them all at the bar again. "Do you want this here or over near the tv?" He waits a moment while they all try to decide silently discuss this amongst themselves. Then he says, "Why don't I set it here, on the bar and if you want to go over to the tv in a while, you can just take your food with you."

Luis smiles easily. "Sounds good, thanks." He spins around on his stool to face the bar, while Neymar and Leo do the same. "Can't wait to dig into that pizza," he says as Cristiano begins to unload the cart.

"That's my pizza!" Neymar says, sounding scandalized. He pulls the pizza closer to him. "See, this is why I ordered you enchiladas and a burger." Whatever he says next is entirely unintelligible due to the huge bite he takes out of a slice of pizza. Still, he points at Luis like he's threatening him, arm around his pizza plate protectively.

"You got that?" Leo asks Luis dryly, accepting his own burger and fries from Cristiano with a nod of thanks.

Luis laughs, his fork already digging into a mixture of rice and beans on his enchilada platter. "To think, I once thought you were cute." He ignores Neymar's resulting squawk and starts eating. "Mmm, these are really good, thanks, man."

Cristiano moves the cart to the end of the bar so they don't trip on it and then returns to his original place so he can get them refills. "So does that mean you don't think he's cute anymore, or...?" he asks teasingly, placing Luis' new beer down with a flourish.

Luis acts like he's mulling the question over. "Well, he's alright, I suppose. Not really my type." Neymar's attempting to argue and yells something on the other side of Leo, but his mouth is full of food again, so nobody really pays attention. "Undoubtedly talented, you know? But also, a little too immature for me."

"Not your type?!" Neymar splutters, finally having swallowed whatever was in his mouth. "That's not what you said in Berlin!"

"Neymar!" Leo chastises, freezing with a fry in his hand. But it's too late and Cristiano looks interested.

"Berlin?" Cristiano asks. "What happened in Berlin?" And then to Leo's horror, "Isn't that the name of one of M.S.N.'s songs? I think I've heard it before, haven't I?" He starts humming under his breath, trying to remember the words. "Hold on, I know I just heard it... 'One, two, three, not only you and me, got one eighty degrees, and I'm caught in between--'"

Leo knocks over his water glass.

"Oh my god," he says, trying to mop it up with his sleeve. "I'm so sorry, do you have any more napkins?"

Cristiano does, of course, have more napkins, as well as a few towels. Between the two of them, they manage to clean up the water. "No worries," Cristiano says once the bar is dry again. "You'd be surprised at how many people do that. Hand to eye coordination not quite at its best when focusing on food, or something like that. Somebody did some study on it, somewhere." He gets Leo a new water glass, and this time gives him a straw.

Before Cristiano can return to singing, Luis stands up. "You know what, I think I'd prefer to keep my food out of the splash zone." He picks up his plate and nudges Leo lightly to show there are no hard feelings. "Ney, the game's still going."

Neymar's got another piece of pizza in his mouth. "So?" And then when Luis just stares at him, he swallows. "Oh, yes, I mean. Yes. I want to watch that. The football. The game where they kick the ball with the foot into large square-like net object things." With Luis' help, he manages to gather up all of his plates, and they go back over to the corner couches again, returning only once for their drinks.

Cristiano stares after them, amused. "I take back what I said before. I'm not sure they're normal people like us," he says once they're settled again.

Leo laughs nervously, patting his sleeve dry the best he can. "You know," he says, chewing on a fry, "I've been blathering on about the band and such. I must sound so rude--I never even asked you how long you've been working here." All he knows is that he has to get as far away from 'Berlin' as possible.

Though, honestly, he'd like to hear more about Cristiano.

Cristiano shrugs. "A few years now," he says, walking around to sit on the stool Neymar had just occupied. "You don't mind if I sit, do you?" Leo shakes his head, and Cristiano smiles again. "I'm not really supposed to when I'm working, but after a while, my feet start to hurt. And it's just you guys, so..."

Leo's distracted by how long Cristiano's eyelashes are. And there, there's a sprinkling of freckles he hadn't noticed until now. Jesus, Luis is right--it really has been a while since he got some. But then it dawns on him that Cristiano is waiting for him to say something, and he looks at his food until that something comes to him.

"Do you like it? Bartending, I mean," Leo asks, removing the onions on his burger before taking a big bite. He chews and swallows, while Cristiano thinks. "Sorry, is that an okay subject? Should we talk about something else?"

"No, no, this is fine," Cristiano reassures him. "Yeah, I like bartending. It's not quite the same as you with your writing, or them with their music, but it's another kind of art. People don't really think of it like that, but I do. I'm creating, you know? Not everybody can do what I do--takes a lot of skill and knowledge."

"I never thought about it that way," Leo says, taking a sip of his water. "But I see what you mean. It is art--it's just consumed a different way than music is. Besides, I haven't the foggiest idea of how to mix drinks, so. I'm impressed by anything. I can handle making tea on my own, but that's about it."

Cristiano smiles again, this time a softer smile like he's relieved Leo's agreed with him. "Truthfully I came to Madrid to model."

"But you didn't like it?" Leo asks, a blush coming to his cheeks as he tries not to imagine Cristiano posing in his underwear on a billboard. The blush doesn't go away as he stares at Cristiano, and instead, he turns back to his burger to distract him.

"I did," Cristiano says, "but it was hard getting regular work year-round. The fashion world runs on its own calendar and the big campaigns get spaced out so as not to interfere with each other. I picked up shifts as a way to make money in the meantime. And then I found out that I liked bartending. I liked making the drinks, and meeting people." He laughs then. "The money's good too, and that's a big thing for me. Having a steady job with a steady income is a relief."

Leo, who has more money than he'll ever need, doesn't know what to say.

"I could have continued the modeling if I wanted to, but I'm quite comfortable now," Cristiano continues, not noticing Leo's discomfort. "I mean, look at me now, rubbing shoulders with rock stars and all that." He winks at Leo. "Neymar looks like he's a guy who leaves big tips."

Leo smiles. "He does," Leo reveals with fondness, flicking his gaze over to where Neymar's entranced by some slow-motion replay. "Luis too," he adds. "It's been a long time since they were anything other than famous, sure, but they're still down to earth most of the time."

"You'd be surprised at how often wealthy people don't care for the help," Cristiano says then, and Leo turns back to him immediately to make a face. "Yeah," Cristiano says, crossing his long legs at the ankle. He's tall enough that even while sitting on the stool, his feet reach the ground.

Leo's dangle.

"I mean, these guys are the first musicians I've served, I think," Cristiano says thinking back. "But," Cristiano continues, shaking his head. "We've had a couple of big name celebs stay here. You know, movie stars, socialites, the like. And let me tell you, some of them treated me with dirt." He sighs and stares at the ground. "Talked down to me, acted like I couldn't understand the simplest instructions. Like I should be bowing down at their feet for the pleasure of simply being in the same room as them. And God forbid their drink wasn't made quickly enough."

"I'm sorry," Leo says, forgetting all about the food on his plate. "That sucks. I can't imagine."

"Well, anyway," Cristiano says, regaining his smile. "It just goes to show that sometimes there's no pleasing people. And I didn't mean to drag us all down here. How's the burger?" He looks at Leo's progress. "Still got most of it left. Do you want anything else?"

Leo looks back at his burger, feeling bad. "It's good," he says, making himself take another bite. "I was hungry, but also not hungry if that makes sense." He shrugs. "Sometimes I nibble during rehearsal, and then that takes a really long time and I end up eating more than I meant to."

"Do you go to all the rehearsals?" Cristiano asks, looking confused. "I guess maybe to see how your songs sound?"

Leo clears his throat, feeling like an idiot for having just said that. Forget Neymar, now he's sabotaging himself.

"I go, yes," Leo says. "They're not open to the public, but there are always a lot of people there. The crew and the assistant and everything. Nobody thinks it's odd that I'm there." He takes another bite of his burger and quickly looks for a way to change the subject. "I haven't gotten to see a lot of Madrid, as a result, though. Not much time for sightseeing. Hard to go out without a fuss."

As he says that, he thinks about how Cristiano might point out he could go alone, without the band, and not have that kind of problem. But thankfully Cristiano doesn't seem to think of that.

Cristiano just nods like he understands. "You're just here for the week, too, right? Where do you go after this?"

Leo thinks about the tour dates. "Paris next, I think. Yeah, just here through the weekend. Germany after France." He doesn't quite have it all memorized, not like the setlist. For the most part, he just gets on the bus and it takes him to the airport he's supposed to be at. Geri always has to tell him ten times what city he's in so that he doesn't forget when he goes onstage. "Ney's excited. He loves Paris."

Cristiano laughs. "Well, who doesn't? City of love and all that." He flicks his eyes over to watch the tv. "I've never been," he says offhandedly.

"To Paris?" Leo asks. "It's nice. Great museums," he muses, though truthfully he hasn't gotten to see everything he wants. Occasionally Geri and his team were able to put together some sort of expedition which involved getting the city to close things early so they could go and see them without the general public mobbing them. He'd still never been up in the Eiffel Tower though.

"No," Cristiano replies, still watching the tv. It looks like somebody's just scored and they're showing a replay of the goal. "But I meant, I've never been in love."

"Oh," Leo says, mulling that over. "Me neither," he finally says.

"Yeah? Sorry," Cristiano says, turning his attention back to Leo. "That was a little deep for casual conversation, huh?" He smiles when Leo ducks his head. "I'm not sure why I said that. I guess..." Here he pauses like he's thinking hard. "You're easy to talk to," he admits with a shrug. "And you'll only be here for the next few days, right? So it's not like I really have to worry about what you think."

Leo's stuck on Cristiano saying he's easy to talk to.

"Sorry," Cristiano says again. "That was rather forward again. More than you asked for, I'm sure. I'm usually very professional, I swear. That's why they scheduled me to work with you guys. Maybe it's just the later hour. I don't know." He looks down at his watch. "A few hours past midnight and I lose my filter entirely. Hope you don't tell my boss."

"No, don't apologize," Leo says, eating another fry. They're starting to taste like cold mush at this point, and he's long since ceased to be hungry. "Say whatever you like. I don't mind." He pushes his plate away and gathers his thoughts. "And thank you, I guess, I'm glad you like talking to me. It's been a while since I've talked to anyone outside the music world, really."

"Can't imagine it's very fun talking to me when you've got these guys around you 24/7," Cristiano says, pointing toward Neymar and Luis. He gets up again, taking Leo's plate and putting it into a tub. The wet towels from Leo's water spill are in there, along with the dirty napkins. Without being asked, he fills another teapot with hot water and adds a few teabags.

"Thank you," Leo says, feeling touched Cristiano's anticipating his needs as he receives a clean teacup and another handful of sugar packets. "It's funny, really I shouldn't be drinking anything except decaf if it's so late, but I think caffeine doesn't really work for me anymore. Properly."

Cristiano gets Leo another spoon too. "Yeah, but you said you really just drink it for the feeling anyways." He considers Leo, noting his giant sweatshirt. "I'd suggest ice cream as an alternative. Cold sugar instead of hot sugar, and it would feel pretty good on your throat too. But, if you're perpetually chilly maybe it's not the best suggestion."

Leo, who's just reached out to rest his hands on the teapot to feel the warmth, laughs. "I know it probably seems like that, but I'm not always cold," he admits, wishing he could explain to Cristiano how much he sweated during performances. "Sweats are just comfortable. Although, admittedly, I am a bit cold right now."

Cristiano looks down at his own outfit, sliding a hand down his button-down to brush away imaginary dirt. "Well, I envy you. Look at this get-up. Sometimes comfort is the way to go." He winks at Leo. "Besides, I shouldn't complain. You look pretty cute in those oversized clothes."

Leo blushes for what feels like the hundredth time that night. "Saying that isn't going to help you get tips, you know," he says, ripping the top off of a sugar packet so he can pour it into his empty cup in preparation. "I have a pretty good idea of what I look like." He knows that someone like Cristiano couldn't possibly be attracted to him, so he's not sure why else he would be saying things like this.

Cristiano clears his throat. "I've made you uncomfortable again. I'm sorry." He reaches beneath the bar to get something and then places a plate in front of Leo carefully. It's covered with a napkin and Cristiano pulls it off slowly to reveal a plate full of biscotti. "For the record, I was being entirely truthful."

Leo's stuck staring at the cookies, while Cristiano goes over to get empty plates from Luis and Neymar. He can hear them talking about the game, and Cristiano joking with them about how much Neymar's eaten. When Cristiano returns with the plates, Neymar and Luis come with him. They're chattering and laughing about whatever team's just won, but Leo feels unsettled.

It just seems so unlikely that Cristiano could *like* Leo.

Just Leo. Not Messi.

It doesn't make any sense.

"Alright, Leo?" Luis asks, slinging an arm around Leo's waist. "Oh, you got your cookies after all." Leo smiles weakly and Luis gives him a squeeze. "How's it going?" he whispers while Cristiano and Neymar continue to discuss the game.

"I don't know," Leo says, feeling frustrated.

Luis looks surprised but hugs Leo tighter. "Alright," he says slowly. "Wanna call it a night?" And when Leo nods, Luis raises his voice. "Ney, it's getting late. Or early. We should head back to our room. Got a full day tomorrow."

"Ugh," Neymar says, sitting down on the barstool while Cristiano returns the dishes to the tub. "I hate photoshoots for 'RM'. Don't see why we have to spend hours taking so many different types of pictures when in the end they only use one or two shots. You'd think they'd have perfected the system by now." He raises his hands to his hair as if to make sure his mohawk is still in place. "How should I style this tomorrow?"

Luis is shaking his head. "I don't care," he says, hoisting Leo up. "But if we're not ready on time, Xavi is going to kill us. Or you. Probably you." He reaches out and grabs a fistful of sugar packets to stuff in his pocket. "Need those for tomorrow," he mutters to Leo. To Cristiano, "You can just add the bill to our room, right?"

Cristiano's eyes stay on Leo, but he nods. "Yeah, just sign this," he says, putting a copy in front of them. "If you're sure I can't get you anything else."

Luis scribbles his name left-handed since the right is holding Leo. His handwriting is so bad that it wouldn't have mattered if he'd signed his name normally. "We're good," he says as he slides it back across the bar. "Alright then, Cristiano, it was nice meeting you. I'm sure we'll see you again this week."

Neymar's getting to his feet too, sensing there's something he doesn't understand. "Yeah, good to meet you," he echoes, bumping his hip against Leo's.

"Well, goodbye then," Leo says, his voice coming out strained. Luis is warm against his side, and while it's comforting, it doesn't take away from the fact that Leo's so unbalanced. This is what he wanted, he tells himself, as Cristiano says something he doesn't catch. He wanted Cristiano to like him, to talk to him like a normal person. He just didn't expect Cristiano to be attracted like that...

It doesn't make sense.

"At least take the cookies," Cristiano says, focused intently on Leo. "I got them for you," Cristiano continues, "and they'll just go in the trash otherwise." He takes a clean napkin and transfers the cookies slowly so that they don't crumble or break. And then he holds them out for Leo to take. "Please, have them tomorrow if you don't want them now."

Leo takes them, unable to look Cristiano in the eye. "Thanks," he murmurs. And then Luis is pulling him in the direction of the door. Neymar follows obediently, waving to Cristiano over his shoulder as they exit and meet Umtiti for the ride back to their room.

"What happened?" Neymar asks once they're safely in the elevator again. "He seemed like a good guy. I thought it was going okay." He reaches over and takes the napkin wrapped cookies from Leo's hand since it looks like Leo might drop them. "Do I need to go back there and smack the shit out of him?"

"You've never smacked the shit out of anyone in your life," Leo says quietly, trying not to laugh at Neymar's unnecessary outrage.

"I certainly have! And even if I couldn't, I could get Umtiti to smack the shit out of him for me," Neymar says, fist-bumping Umtiti who nods solemnly.

Luis still has his arm around Leo's waist. "So what did happen?" he asks. "You two looked like you were having a heart to heart. He sat next to you and everything."

"It'll sound stupid now," Leo mutters, counting the floors as they continue to go up. "But he said I looked cute in my clothes." The second he says it, he knows what reaction he's going to get, but it's too late now. Besides, that's what happened, and it's not like he's going to lie about it to his best friends.

"So he," Luis starts, pressing his lips together and moving his head side to side. "Okay, so he stated you looked good in your clothes. Basically gave you a compliment, and was a bit flirty at the same time." He lets out a deep breath through his nose. "So is the problem that you can't take a compliment anymore... or...?"

"You do look cute in those sweats, Leo!" Neymar says, sounding surprised Leo doesn't concur. "They're so big and you're so small." He waves his hand. "That's like science. Small things are cute. Thusly, you are cuteness."

"We're not on the same level," Leo says, his frustration finally showing. The elevator opens then, and he practically scrambles for their suite. "He's like, whatever, way out of my league," he says, stomping into their rooms. "Hell, he fucking modeled before he took this job. He's fucking gorgeous and the very idea that someone like him would be interested in someone like me--"

"Woah, back up," Neymar says, hot on his heels. "Are you kidding? Someone like you? I thought we were over this. Leo, you're a fucking rock god, and I say this as a completely objective and neutral third party--"

"Can you not joke about this right now," Leo says, interrupting Neymar immediately. "I can't handle it."

"He's right, Leo," Luis says, collapsing onto the couch. He kicks off his boots, nearly knocking off their used teacups from earlier. "I don't know if you've conveniently forgotten or what, but you're the lead singer of a pretty big band here. The very idea that you're out of someone's league is laughable, okay?"

Leo opens and closes his fists, pulling his hands up into his sleeves. "But..."

"The real issue here is that you think you're somehow worthless when you're not performing," Luis says, frowning. "I don't know why you still think that, but that's horseshit."

Neymar puts his bundle of cookies on the table. Then he sits down next to Luis looking upset. "Leo, joking aside, you're amazing." He hugs his knee to his chest and then rests his chin on top of it. "We wouldn't lie to you about this, you know. If you were awful, I mean, I doubt we'd hang out as much as we do." He cracks a smile. "You know I'm not lying. My poker face is terrible."

Leo finally sinks down onto the sofa next to them. "I'm not saying that I suck, or whatever in the looks department. Just that," he puts his head back and covers his eyes with his arm. "He's really, really good looking, and I'm like average-ish when I'm not on stage. And that's if we're being generous." He knows it sounds stupid, and he puts his arm down with a sigh. "It's just weird that he said that. It threw me, okay?"

"I think you just need to get some rest," Neymar says, and when Leo and Luis look at him oddly, he makes a face. "What?! I can be the responsible and serious one sometimes. Okay? That's not specifically reserved for the two of you."

Leo just rolls his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to go through and add footnotes (to oitnb too lol) but for now here's a few references you might have missed or didn't know about.
> 
> -Gordo aka Fatty is one of Luis Suarez' affectionate nicknames  
> -The fictional 'Berlin' takes its lyrics from Britney Spears' song '3'  
> -A girl once jumped off a balcony at a stadium to try to get at Leo after an Argentina game. [You can see it here.](https://youtu.be/r7Vi_SNIDXA?t=407)  
> -Ney ~ likes Paris ~ meaning P.S.G.  
> -Of course everyone knows Cristiano has modeled underwear  
> -'RM' magazine is... surprise-surprise... Real Madrid


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay," Xavi says. He has his phone in one hand and a binder in the other, but he sets them down on a table filled with jewelry and accessories that Sergio's plucked from the other tables and has been considering for Leo's final look. "Listen up, I've got some bad news and I want to get it out of the way now before you find out from someone else. And brace yourselves, because you're not going to like it."
> 
> Leo's still sitting in his makeup chair with Sergio behind him, some sort of mousse about to go into his hair. But he meets Xavi's eyes in the mirror, a little afraid to find out that Xavi is staring right at him as opposed to the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, everything in the world sucks and I haven't been writing in awhile because I've been depressed lol. I'm hoping with a new season right around the corner that things will start to inspire me again. I can't imagine it'll be a normal season with everything that's still going on around us, but it'll at least be something for me to turn to.
> 
> (I know people are waiting for OITNB and I'm sorry that's taking so long)
> 
> Behind on comments and notes, sorry about that.

They're nearly on time to the 'RM' photoshoot, or at least they're only a little late. Although that ends up to be more traffic's influence than Neymar's. But it doesn't really matter because these things always take hours. The photographer won't even show up until later, because makeup and wardrobe eat up a good amount of time first.

Assistants provide racks of clothes and tables of shoes and accessories from all sorts of different designers and sponsors while remaining on hand in case something else is needed. (Sergio's got all sorts of backup stuff in a large trunk back on the bus 'in case of an emergency': aka in case the magazine's clothes are 'total shit that he wouldn't let a dog wear'.) And as always, Luis and Neymar dress themselves, knowing what sort of things look good on them and being comfortable enough with the end product to take responsibility for that.

Luis goes black on black on black--black t-shirt, black jeans, black boots. The t-shirt sleeves get folded up slightly, revealing most of the tribal tattoo on his bicep, and he chooses to wear a long silver necklace with large sun charm. He hasn't shaved in a few days so he has a bit of stubble, but doesn't seem concerned. "Makes me look tougher," he says as he draws on his eyeliner. "And yes, I understand why you're laughing." He finishes off the look with a red wrap bracelet on his right wrist.

Neymar just laughs and laughs. He's chosen to do the faux mohawk again, and he's wearing a white tunic type top over black leather leggings and his silver high top sneakers. Silver hoops are in his ears, along with some black and red studs that go up his cartilage. "I didn't say anything!" he manages to get out through the laughter.

They've given the band a timid little makeup artist, Luka, who flutters around Neymar and offers eyeshadow and powder. The poor guy is clearly talented and has a case full of the best products, but Neymar prefers to do almost everything himself. Besides his black eyeliner and mascara, he sweeps some orange and red eyeshadow over his lids and adds a touch of lipstick. Luka ends up being put to work redoing his fingernail polish because they discover that half of Neymar's nails are chipped.

That's the least of their problems, however. Because an hour into their time in the dressing rooms, Xavi is livid. None of them are really sure why, but they can hear him shouting down the hall. They're proved right when Xavi bursts in without knocking.

Geri and Andrés are trailing behind him, both looking furious.

"Okay," Xavi says. He has his phone in one hand and a binder in the other, but he sets them down on a table filled with jewelry and accessories that Sergio's plucked from the other tables and has been considering for Leo's final look. "Listen up, I've got some bad news and I want to get it out of the way now before you find out from someone else. And brace yourselves, because you're not going to like it."

Leo's still sitting in his makeup chair with Sergio behind him, some sort of mousse about to go into his hair. But he meets Xavi's eyes in the mirror, a little afraid to find out that Xavi is staring right at him as opposed to the others.

"What's this about Xavi?" Luis asks, setting his guitar down next to the couch and standing up. Neymar is beside him, Luka still painting his nails, but he looks up with a worried expression on his face. "Something wrong with the shoot?"

Xavi grits his teeth, turning to look at Neymar for a moment. Then he looks at Luis, as if he thinks he'll be the one he needs to worry about. "Alright, so, Dani Alves is here," he says curtly. "He shouldn't be in the same room as you while you're shooting for the most part, but he's here and obviously he could walk in at any moment since 'RM' doesn't give a shit about what we want."

Leo carefully doesn't look away from Xavi in the mirror, but he knows that the blood has drained from his face. "Oh?" he asks, proud of himself when his voice doesn't sound out of the ordinary. "I thought he was touring somewhere in the States."

"I'm really sorry, guys," Xavi says, still incredibly tense, focused on Luis. "They didn't tell me, and at this point it's clear that they went out of their way to hide it. You're getting the cover spot, but they're doing a big arc on him, and they seemed to have hoped that they could get a shot of all of you together. 'RM' knows we don't do anything if he's involved, so the fact that this somehow didn't come out until now is ridiculous." He holds his hand out and Andrés puts a coffee into it. "If you want to scrap this whole thing, we can do that. Fuck it. I don't even care at this point."

Geri shakes his head in disgust. "I'll figure out some way to spin it. 'RM' won't be happy, but we won't take a hit on this in the press. Someone else can do the cover. Although Bale has personally apologized to me--he said that he and Benzema had no control over this."

"Tell them we're out," Luis says furiously. He sits back down on the sofa, picking his guitar back up and starting to play something angrily. "I believe Bale, he's just the photographer, but Benzema is the creative director for crying out loud. That's complete bullshit." He strums some of 'El Pistolero' and then nearly throws his pick across the room. "Fuck this, Xavi. We're out."

"Are you okay, Neymar?" Luka asks, steading Neymar's hand which has started to shake rather badly. He's paused painting Neymar's nails and returned the bright red brush to the bottle. He ends up patting Neymar's arm like he doesn't know what else to do. "Should we take a break?"

"Yeah, that might be good," Neymar says slowly, not really looking at anybody. His eyes are on his nails like he's admiring the color. "Thank you, Luka." And then, "Maybe give us a few minutes alone to decompress?" Luka wisely nods, twisting the nail polish cap on securely and exiting the room with a furrowed brow.

"We can't just leave now," Leo says, flicking his gaze from Neymar to Luis in the reflection of the mirror. "I mean we're already here, and we're almost dressed... Right?" Sergio's silently fluffing his hair now, combing his fingers through to artfully style Leo's hair even though all of his work might have gone to waste. It feels rather comforting and Leo clings to that. "I mean... I don't want to do this, but... We should? Shouldn't we, Xavi?"

Xavi takes a gulp of his coffee. "Honestly, it's a nightmare either way." Andrés hits him on the arm, and he shrugs. "Well, it is, Andrés!"

Geri sighs loudly. "It is," he agrees. He hesitates then. "I really can spin it if I have to, but people are definitely going to read between the lines. They know some of the problems we have with Alves--not everything of course--but enough that another incident is going to make them start digging." He gets his phone out and starts typing, knowing he'll have to put out a statement immediately if they bail. "And if Alves puts out his own version first..."

Neymar very calmly blows on his nails. "We should do it," he agrees. "We're here--happy to be here in Madrid--and there are plenty of our fans who read 'RM'. No sense in letting them all down just because we don't get along with whoever else they're shooting for this issue."

"It's not just somebody else, though, is it?" Luis says, turning to Neymar. "It's Dani fucking Alves. And if you think for one minute that I'm--"

Neymar interrupts him. "This isn't really about you. Is it?" He fans his nails in the air to help dry them quicker. "It's about me and Leo." His eyes go to Luis', and his normal cheery smile is missing. "I'm not sure you get a vote," he says bluntly. "Sorry, Gordo."

"That's not fair, Ney," Leo says, getting up from the makeup chair now that his hair is done. Choosing to have Leo match the color palette of the others, Sergio's already dressed him in dark red leather pants and a black sleeveless and distressed tank. For the photoshoot he's also sporting a red choker necklace and a silver cuff, along with his ever present black boots. His oil slick nail polish is still perfect and without chips, so he's been spared having to have them repainted like Neymar. All he needs is his eyeliner and he'll be ready to go.

"We all get a vote," Leo continues. "You know that." He looks between everyone, wishing for the millionth time that the whole mess with Alves had never happened. "And *you* know," Leo says, focusing on Neymar now, "how upset Luis was too, after everything. And what he did."

Luis looks glum now, guitar still in his hands, but fingers motionless. "I'd do it again," he says, staring at his feet. "I'm not sorry."

Neymar sighs, slouching back against the couch. "I still think," he says, "we should do it. Fuck him. Why the hell should he chase us away from anything? We're fucking M.S.N. and he can only dream of being as successful as we are. We're the cover here, not him, so he can just suck it." He sits back up. "Andrés? Can you get Luka back in here to finish my nails, please?"

"I don't like it," Luis says, first to Neymar and then to the rest of them. "If he says one thing to either of you--"

"Then we'll deal with it," Leo interrupts. "Alright?" He clears his throat, fiddling with the choker around his neck. He's not sure if he likes it as tight as it is. "It's been awhile now. We should be able to be in the same room as him." After a beat, he grumbles, "Should be able to have a fucking conversation without wanting to throttle him."

"'Should be,' being the key words there, Leo," Neymar says, holding his hand out to Luka once the makeup artist reappears. "Sorry about that Luka. If you could just go ahead and finish my nails for me? We're going to be staying to do the shoot after all."

Xavi lets out long breath. "Alright. I'll tell them we're still doing it. But I'll make it clear that you guys are doing them a huge favor, here. And that the next time they try to cross us, we will absolutely walk." He takes another gulp of his coffee. "I swear to god, I don't know who the hell they think they're dealing with. Geri draft up something in case 'RM' tries to turn this on us later."

Leo draws on his eye makeup while Geri starts typing on his phone again, nearly poking himself in the eye when he tries to do it too quickly. "It'll be fine," he whispers to himself, smudging the lines slightly until he's happy with them.

He catches the look Luis gives Neymar behind his back, but there's nothing more to say for now.

"They're ready for you apparently," Xavi says once he returns, grabbing his phone and binder again. Andrés takes his near empty coffee and promptly swaps it for a full one. "Oh, thank you Andrés. You're a lifesaver, my dear." He takes a sip and hums. "Again, just, brace yourselves in case he's waiting there. Alright?"

Luis takes the lead as they walk through the hallways. Whether that's because he wants to be the first to see Alves, or because he's angry at Leo and Neymar, nobody is really sure. But he's the first one into the studio, and he's not happy at all. His black clothing definitely matches his black mood, and when he sees Bale and Benzema, he doesn't smile.

Bale's got his long hair up in a bun atop his head and shakes their hands in greeting. "Thank you guys for being here, again," he says, sweeping his gaze up and down their forms. "Seriously, you look great, and I can't wait to get started." Leo can practically see how he catalogues every color of their outfits and every curve of their bodies. "I appreciate you sticking around."

Benzema's more of the silent type, standing at Bale's shoulder while gesturing toward the board of designs the've come up with. There's a little smirk on his face, too, like he knows they've gotten away with something.

Dani Alves isn't in the room.

But that doesn't stop Leo from frequently glancing at the door.

Bale has his assistants get the backdrop and lights set up to his specifications, and then they're underway. The first shots of the day are rather easy. Neymar's instructed to hold his drumsticks and stand on the left, Luis is told to hold his bass on the right, and Leo is front and center with his own guitar. They're supposed to look casual but fierce at the same time, and this really results in them looking like a mix in between. Still, Leo likes this shot best, since Luis and Neymar are right next to him.

Personally he thinks it shows how they're such a tight knit group.

After that, Bale has them change it just slightly every so often. First they're standing there, then they're sitting on the edge of the platform, then they're pretending to play their instruments (A set of drums is brought in for Neymar). The background goes from stark white to white and black to gray.

Much like rehearsals, photoshoots take a good long while.

Bale's a professional, but he takes a few shots and then takes a few minutes at them to see how they look. He tweaks the lights, makes them brighter or darker, changes the angle, and even brings in the wind machine at one point. "Good, good," he says most of the time, or, "Give me more of that, Luis" or, "Lift your chin, Neymar, just a touch."

His assistants are swarming all over the place to do his bidding, changing out his camera when needed, climbing on ladders to aim the lights where directed, and even fetching Bale water when they think he needs to hydrate. Overall, they're a well-oiled machine and Leo and the others start to relax at how well it's going.

These are the shots that Bale seems to like the best--the ones where Leo and Luis and Neymar aren't so worried about the camera or the posing. He doesn't give them any instruction during these moments, just points and clicks and points and clicks, trying to capture Neymar's flirty smile or Luis' gigantic grin. Sometimes, he even tries to get them to bicker between themselves, throwing out questions like, "Who's got the best ink?" or "Who usually makes you late?"

The answer to both is Neymar, even though he disputes this loudly.

Eventually they get to the solo shots.

That ends up being a bit boring for Leo, since Luis is scheduled to go first and then Neymar after him, with Leo last. But Leo sits and watches, being the good, supportive bandmate that he is. His fingers itch for his pencil and notepad, but they're both back on the bus and so he's forced to forget about writing for awhile. Xavi brings him some water and tea which he drinks while he waits, nibbling on some sandwiches when one of Bale's assistants presses him for what he wants to eat. The assistant—James—is apparently willing to get him any type of food under the sun, but Leo's not very hungry as usual.

Thankfully Neymar is willing to make odd requests like a bowl of only pink Starburst--some chewy candy that Leo's not really taken with, and chocolate chip cookies with all the chocolate chips picked out. "So, sugar cookies," Leo says slowly, only to be told that's not even close to what Neymar wants.

James responds to these challenges with relish, and when he returns in less than ten minutes with Neymar's food, they start up a pretty flirty conversation--James and Neymar that is. Leo sits there and listens, trying to understand how the two of them clicked so quickly.

"Oh, yes," James is saying, "Bale is an absolute genius. I adore working for him. You don't get to see all the pictures he takes, but I do and they're brilliant. I don't know how he does it. Even people who seem determined to make the most awful faces, somehow Bale manages to show their beauty inside all of that."

"And you want to be a photographer someday?" Neymar asks curiously, munching on a piece of his chocolate-less cookies. "Huh, these seem like they're missing something."

"Chocolate chips, maybe," Leo mutters under his breath, trying not to pick at his nails while he watches Bale pose Luis to his liking. Most of Luis' shots are closeups--hands cradling his bass, tattoos on his arm against the body of the guitar, brooding shots of him staring off into the distance... A few are full body shots--Luis with his feet up and the guitar on his lap, some of him from behind with the guitar strapped to his back, and one that Leo would actually really like to see of Luis with his head back laughing hysterically.

"Definitely," James says, not rising to Neymar's bait. "I know it seems like I'm doing errands and such, currently, but this is only part of my job. I also get to work with the film and help them go through the editing process. Bale's such a good teacher, he lets me have so much input on the final product. I can't wait to see how the spread ends up."

"Sounds like you might have a little crush," Neymar teases, nudging his shoulder against James'. "Hot for teacher?"

James laughs and shakes his head. "Not my type," he admits. "I have more of a job crush, if that's what we want to call it." He tilts his head. "Is there a word for that? A work boner?" He makes a face. "Okay, well, that just sounds disgusting. Sorry about that."

Neymar nearly falls over with laughter, grabbing on to James to keep his balance. "Oh, man," he says, trying to recover. "That's awful and hilarious. Please, never say that again to anybody ever. I will pay you." He chuckles again, raising a hand to his face and then turning to look at James. After a second, he leans in extremely close. "I didn't mess any makeup up, did I? Only, I'll have to go back to the dressing room and fix it before I'm up."

Leo's very aware of how James reaches up to touch Neymar's cheek, thumb sliding under Neymar's eye to dab at a spot of makeup.

"You're good," James says, sounding a little breathless as he brings his hand back down to his side. "You look really good," he says, biting his lip. "I mean, your makeup looks good," he says flushing now. "The makeup. It's good. It'll photograph really well."

Neymar's smile is starting to go soft around the edges, like it does when he starts to relax around someone. "I look good, too, right?" he asks, with a hint of throatiness. "You like it? How *I* look?" He widens his eyes just slightly, turning to what he knows is his best angle, and wets his lips only slightly so as not to ruin his lipstick.

He knows exactly what he's doing.

James starts stammering and turning beet red now, utterly unprepared for Neymar's full and undivided attention. He wasn't star struck before, which was a point in his favor and probably why Neymar talked to him for so long. But when Neymar turns it on, it can be hard to do anything but melt. Still, James rallies, surprising Leo. "Yeah," he admits boldly, biting his lip again like he can't believe he really said that. "Yeah, I really do."

They're all smiley then, and Leo very quietly continues to eat his sandwiches and feel like a third wheel. The truth is, as he chews his turkey and cheese, he's not jealous of Neymar making eyes at James. Leo would never be jealous of that. Neymar's his friend and Leo always wants him to be happy and find what love and friendship he can.

What makes him insanely jealous is just how easy that was for Neymar.

A little private conversation in combination with a flirty smile and a fluttering of his eyelashes, and he'd made an instant connection. Leo thinks back to the hotel, and how hard it had been for him to even speak to Cristiano.

He shakes his head.

He's just so jealous of Neymar's charisma sometimes.

Things are semi-better when it's Neymar's turn to be photographed. Only semi, because although Luis comes to sit next to Leo companionably, Neymar continues to bond with James. It gets to be so much that even Bale notices, and he starts having James stand right behind him when he's photographing Neymar to try to capture it. "Keep those gorgeous eyes right here," Bale calls. "James, he's still looking at you! Come on, Neymar, at the camera!"

Luis finds the whole thing hilarious, of course. "This one's cute," he says, taking a bite of the sandwich on Leo's plate. "He offered to get me a drink earlier and I thought he was going to faint, but it turns out he's got a bit of a spark, huh?" He chews idly, smirking when Neymar offers to take his shirt off. If it would look good for the camera. "Oh, dude, he really wants to hook him, doesn't he?"

Bale jumps at the chance to shoot Neymar shirtless, so Neymar strips off his shirt with relish. After that, it's a bunch of provocative shots. Neymar does a few with his thumbs in his waistband, slightly dragging down his leggings until they're dangerously low. Then some with his drumsticks perilously close to his lips. He ends with some of him laying on the stage, arching his body in ways that he'd never need to when performing. Each is accompanied with sultry winks, pursed lips, seductive smiles.

James is left openmouthed and visibly sweating, where he's perched behind Bale. The silent and lurking Benzema even says something to him at one point about it, handing him a tissue, but neither Leo nor Luis can hear much from where they're sitting.

"Ney's definitely going home with his number," Leo says, having long become used to Neymar's sex appeal.

"Scratch that," Luis whispers as he continues to eat Leo's food. "Ney's going home with *him*.

"Do we have earplugs back at the hotel?" Leo asks, batting Luis' hand away from the part Leo's determined to finish. "I don't think we do. Remind me to get some off the bus before we go back to our rooms." Luis murmurs something in agreement, and Leo continues eating until he's cleaned his plate.

Bale's indicated that it is Leo's turn to have his solo session, so Neymar saunters over toward the camera under the pretense of looking at the photos. Everyone knows it's so he can just cozy up to James again. "Oh, what do you think, James?" Neymar coos, beckoning James closer and closer until they're hip to hip. "Which one's your favorite, hmmm?" he asks they study the monitor with the last couple of pictures displayed.

After that, Leo chugs the last of his water, baring his teeth at Luis so that his friend can make sure there's nothing stuck in his smile. "Alright, wish me luck," Leo says, striding over to get this over with.

Now, Leo knows that he isn't solid muscle like Luis. Nobody's every trying to capture his broad shoulders or shaped biceps. He's short and thin, especially in comparison. And he knows that he isn't bright and cheery like Neymar. Nobody is after his wide smile or sunny eyes. What he is, according to almost everyone who's ever photographed him, is brooding and mysterious. This sounds utterly ridiculous to Leo, yet time and time again, photographers seem to come to this conclusion.

Bale's not the exception.

He sets Leo up on a modern looking armchair and gets rid of everything else in the background. The first couple shots are of Leo just sitting there and looking straight into the camera. "Just relax," Bale says encouragingly, pausing with the camera in one hand to change the memory card. "Just be you and the rest will come."

Leo has no idea what the rest is, or even what it means to be himself, but Bale seems to like it when Leo shifts to leaning forward with his hands on his knees. Leo keeps his eyes on the camera, trying to think of what makes him *him*. He can still see Geri floating around the room, Xavi and Andrés over by the coffee, Ney and James back eating with Luis... After awhile, he kinda zones out and everything else just becomes white noise. Leo lets himself drift, playing with the ribbon of the red choker around his neck, letting his fingers curl into the silver cuff on his wrist.

Bale's gentle suggestions for movement filter through the fog in Leo's head gradually, and Leo adapts, feeling like he's underwater or in slow motion. He slouches back in the chair, tipping his head back and letting his eyes fall shut, elongating his body as directed. Bale must like it, because after that Leo only hears the click of the camera.

Leo's just thinking that maybe this is the easiest solo shooting that he's ever done.

And then Dani Alves shows up.

"Hey there, Ney. You're looking fan-fucking-tastic if I do say so myself."

Leo doesn't want to open his eyes, because if he doesn't open his eyes, he can pretend that Dani isn't really there. Of course, that's only wishful thinking, because whatever peace of mind he just experienced during the shoot is gone now. He's sure there's no longer a serene expression on his face, and Bale's no longer clicking away, anyway. He opens his eyes to see that Dani's toe to toe with Neymar. James is behind Neymar, looking apprehensive at the complete one eighty Neymar's mood's done, while Luis is still sitting--though his eyes have darkened with rage.

Leo knows the feeling.

"Don't think I asked you," Neymar says coolly, crossing his arms and ignoring the way Dani's leering at his chest. "In fact, I don't think I asked you to bother me at all. We're all a bit busy working. So, if you could just go head and..." Here he waves his hand toward the door, "get the fuck out."

Dani cocks his head. "Oh, Ney," he says, grinning. "I've *really* missed you." Dani's wearing a black leather jacket covered with studs over a white t-shirt and black jeans. He's paired this with shiny, black dress shoes. There are diamonds in his ears and thick, black rimmed glasses over his eyes. "How long's it been, hmmm?"

And a godawful smirk on his face.

"You're looking rather slutty," Dani continues, reaching out as if he wants to put his hand on Neymar's hip. Neymar slaps it away angrily, but Dani isn't fazed. "Then again, you always were." He laughs. "That was a good night. Wasn't it? What are you doing after this? Time for a quickie?"

James is looking between Dani and Neymar now, with growing realization.

"I think he told you to get lost," Luis says from where he's still sitting. His hands have tightened into fists and his leg is vibrating like it's costing him a lot of effort to stay in his chair. "Unless you really do want a repeat of last time--in which case keep talking." He shifts his weight, and without taking his eyes off Dani, calls across the room, "Sorry, Geri. You'd better get a press release ready. Because I most certainly am going to break his nose again."

"Don't hit him, Luis," Leo finally says, getting to his feet reluctantly. He notes the way Dani's gaze swings toward him, sharpening with anticipating. "It's not worth it. Don't want you to hurt your hand with the show this weekend," he tosses out, walking toward the group with more confidence than he feels. "And blood is such a pain to clean up anyway."

The last thing he really wants to do is talk about or to Dani Alves, but if it saves them a mess of trouble, then he's going to suck it up and do it.

"Lionel Messi," Dani says, flicking his eyes up and down Leo's body with relish. "Looking fiery today." And then when Leo's closer, "So jealous. Don't worry. There's no need. I've missed you too, darling."

"You're interrupting our shoot," Leo says, deliberately not reacting. "And I think it's clear you're not wanted here." He lets himself adopt a bored tone that doesn't sound anything like him normally. "Really, we're terribly busy. I think 'RM' would appreciate it if you let us get on with things." He looks toward Bale and Benzema. "I'm afraid we won't be able to continue until he's out of here."

"Still haven't forgiven me, Leo?" Dani asks. His grin turns nastier and he takes a step toward Leo. "I'll be here all week if you want to hash things out. I rather think that will end well for all of us." Luis is starting to growl and Dani looks dismissively over his shoulder. "Hell, Luis can join us for all I care. So long as he keeps his hands to himself. He's not as pretty, but--"

"Did you hear what I said, Bale? We're not doing anything further until he's gone," Leo interrupts, turning his back on Dani to back toward the center of the room. He knows if he lets this go on even a minute longer, Luis is going to rip Dani's face off. And while Leo really wouldn't mind if that happens, he knows the fallout won't be good at all.

He can hear Bale and Benzema start to try to persuade Dani to leave, but it's only half-heartedly. Leo suspects they really do want a photo of all of them for whatever reason. He can see Neymar's discomfort and growing panic out of the corner of his eye, and he's wracking his brain for what else he can do. There isn't much, Leo decides, still trying to portray himself as confident and uncaring.

He's desperately afraid he's about to crack along with the rest of them.

Then he realizes, staring at Neymar and suddenly inspired, that he has one more card to play.

"I was just getting comfortable," Leo says loudly over the hubbub. And without further ado, he grabs the bottom of his shirt, and slowly drags it up over his head. With all eyes now on him, he lets it dangle in his fingers and adopts a bored looking expression. "But if you'd rather stop now," he says, smoothing his hand up over his chest, slightly brushing the silver bar through his nipple.

Neymar had once told him in a fit of drunken giggles that the casual gesture made him look incredibly hot. Especially since Leo's so sensitive that he shivers afterward.

The sea of shocked and open-mouthed faces in front of him--both from his team and the rest of the crew--makes him think that Neymar's on to something. On top of that, Xavi drops his coffee mug which shatters into a thousand pieces, Geri gets so weak kneed that he has to collapse into a nearby chair, and Luis actually says, "Holy fuck."

It gives Leo the boost he needs to sit back into the armchair like a king would a throne, splaying his legs slightly and dropping the shirt carelessly to the floor. "It is getting rather late," Leo says, adding a bit of a rasp to his voice. His thumbs curl into the belt loops of his leather pants, dragging them down just enough to reveal his hipbones like he's trying to get comfortable. "We can just call it a day if you've got all the shots you need."

It's a gamble, but... Leo's never posed shirtless in his entire career. It might be common for a lot of people, but it's just not a thing he does. And though Neymar had stripped off with relish in front of the camera for this shoot (and a handful of others), Leo never would have followed in his footsteps if he had any other choice.

That said, despite the amount of sugar he consumes, he's in pretty good shape--slim and muscled enough that he's sporting what might be called a six pack. That might have been enough to tempt Bale, but then there's his jewelry as a bit of a bonus. Truthfully, he's not sure the public even knows he's got his nipple pierced. Some eagle-eyed fans might have spotted it, especially since Sergio's made it his goal in life to never have Leo dressed in anything other than a ripped shirt, but Leo's still managed to hidden the piercing rather well. Giving Bale the opportunity to photograph something so private makes him utterly nervous and uncomfortable, but Leo's also pretty sure there's no way that the magazine will refuse.

And they don't.

"You heard him, Alves," Bale says, trying to regain his composure, though it's clear he's beyond ready to start shooting Leo. "Get the fuck out. This is a closed shoot." He starts pushing Dani out himself, camera already in hand while he begins shouting instructions about lighting back to his crew. "Don't you have your own shoot anyway? Cavani's going to be livid if you're skipping out on him."

Dani doesn't really have a chance to reply, so startled by the shoves. He's staring directly at Leo, looking astonished by what's just happened. In fact, it's not until he's right in the doorway that he manages to open his mouth. But whatever he's going to say is interrupted by Neymar.

Neymar waggles his fingers at Dani, slinging an arm around James shoulders. He looks like he couldn't be happier, winding himself around James and back to being all sunshine and sweetness. "Do us all a favor and don't come back," he sing-songs, ignoring the rude gesture he receives in return.

Bale practically slams the door in Dani's face, so in a rush that it sounds like it might actually hit Dani's face.

And then Dani Alves is gone.

Leo's more relieved than anything else. Of course, that's before all eyes turn to him again and he remembers that now he has to continue through with the rest of the photoshoot.

Nobody really knows how to treat him after that.

Leo doesn't blame them. He doesn't know what the hell came over him. All he knows is that he hates Dani Alves so fucking much... It's hard to get back into the shoot. But he tries. He lets himself zone out again as Bale shoots him, changing his body posture and positioning every few minutes as directed. Bale's going with bright white lights, mostly closeups and quite a few shots implying that Leo's wearing a lot less than he really is. But Leo doesn't care anymore. He imagines that his face looks rather blank, maybe void of emotion, and he's not sure if that will end up looking good or not.

Truthfully he feels rather drained.

He's never been one for confrontation. Even after what happened before, he'd never yelled or screamed at Dani. Neymar had done that for the both of them, with Luis throwing a few punches for good measure. Some of that was enough for Leo--just to know that Neymar and Luis had his back, and they wouldn't let anyone get between them. But Leo still thinks about it time and time again. There was always that little part of him inside that said he'd let Dani get away with everything.

"You were the one who broke Alves' nose?" Benzema says suddenly out of the blue about ten minutes after Dani's left. Sergio's been called in to make Leo's hair a little messier, which is easier said than done apparently and has caused everyone to kinda twiddle their thumbs while they wait for things to continue. And when Luis just nods, Benzema cracks a smile. "Good on you, man. Can't say I haven't wanted to pop him a few times. Guy gets on my last nerves."

"I--," James starts, faltering when heads turn in his direction. He and Neymar are sitting again, munching on their cookies. "I always liked his music, though," he says, sounding forlorn, wiping a crumb from his mouth. "But I don't know I want to listen to him anymore, now that I know he's an asshole."

Neymar shrugs. "Listen if you want," he says. He's put his shirt back on now, like donning his armor, some of his fun having been spoiled by Dani's appearance. Leo wishes that he could do the same. "Lot of assholes make good music. Talent hides a multitude of sins. And we can't deny he's a talented son of a bitch." Then he knocks his shoulder into James lightly. "You can still appreciate his work even if you aren't a fan of him as a person. Um, but he is indeed an asshole so, just be wary if you do ever have to work with him."

"There were rumors you guys were working on some sort of compilation," Benzema presses as he looks at Neymar thoughtfully. "Any truth to that?"

"You asking as someone who works for a magazine, or just because you're curious?" Luis asks. He's watching as Andrés makes Xavi clean up the spilled coffee and broken mug. "Let's just say we weren't all on the same page. Alves didn't have our priorities." Benzema makes a face, but Luis just smiles. "And that's the only answer that you're going to get."

Not too far away, Geri is giving him a thumbs up.

"That's not much of an answer," James whispers to Neymar once Benzema has walked away in a huff. "What really did happen?"

Neymar just shakes his head, eyes back on Leo. Sergio's finally deemed Leo's hair is a masterpiece, and the shooting is about to start again. Neymar can obviously see through Leo's mask, quite familiar with his insecurities, so he tries to send a reassuring smile. "We wanted to make something beautiful. And Dani? He just wanted to fuck around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -'RM' is for Real Madrid  
> -Luis' sun charm is for the Uruguayan flag  
> -Luka is Modrić of course  
> -James is James Rodríguez (who was playing a lot more for RM back when I wrote this....)  
> -Bale and Benzema are self-explanatory  
> -Leo's done a few photoshoots of him sitting in an armchair and looking brooding. For Storkman, and I want to say the D&G shoot.  
> -Dani Alves wore a studded leather jacket for The Best awards photographs in 2017, you can just google him if you want to see it  
> -Cavani photographing Dani was inspired by Dani's move to PSG in 2017  
> -Do I not really need any more notes for this chapter or is this kinda a less creative one as my previous few... well it's more plotty I guess haha


End file.
